Blowin' in the Wind
by MidnightBlue88
Summary: In 1964, 5 teenagers [a hippie, a feminist, a preacher’s daughter, a war hero’s son and a shy writer] arrive at school to serve Saturday detention. What happens in that room changes everything, for themselves and for their children. [Challenge Response]
1. Saturday Detention

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Breakfast Club. I also don't own "Blowin' in the Wind", the Bob Dylan song I named the story after.But feel free to sue me anyway. I have five dollars in my wallet and even less in the bank. You could buy yourself a sandwich or something.  
**Rating:** T for language, drug use and adult situations, including references to sex and violent images pertaining to war.  
**Summary:** In 1964, five teenagers arrive at school to serve Saturday detention. A hippie, a feminist, a preacher's daughter, a war hero's son and a shy writer…meet the parents of the Breakfast Club.  
**A/N:** I didn't come up with this idea on my own. I am writing this in response to a challenge issued by Unicorn Pammy. The challenge is as follows:  
"I'd like to read a story about the parents of the Breakfast Club all having detention as teenagers. ALSO, the parents cannot have the same characteristics as the children. John's dad can't be the criminal, Claire's mom can't be the princess, etc. Mix it up a little, and try different stereotypes. Oh, and it doesn't have to be all parents, it can be aunts and uncles, but at least one of them has to be a parent of a clubber."

So, this story takes place in 1964. It's cutting it a bit close, but I have done the math, and the dates work out, even if it means that the parents are giving birth to the BC members at a pretty young age. Then again, the average age to give birth in the early 60's was 21.8, so I don't think I'm actually that far off the mark.

**

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Historical Information -- Please Read First **

I did a bunch of research about the 1960's, but I might have made mistakes. Feel free to shove said mistakes down my throat (metaphorically, please) if you see any.

For this chapter, it will be important for you to know that the hippie movement was getting popular in the early sixties. Though it was in existence in 1964, it's uncertain _exactly_ when the word hippie became part of the common slang, so I'll be using it sparingly in this story. The hippie movement grew from the beatnik movement of the late 1950's (think Jack Kerouac and coffee houses), so the term Beatnik was usually used (as a derogatory term) to describe those who were part of the counter-culture.

* * *

Now, I don't normally like it when an author has to introduce characters before the story begins (I think that's laziness on the author's part). However, in this case I think it's necessary. The cast of this story is as follows: 

Frank Bender: John's father  
Jack Reynolds: Allison's father  
Jean Miller: Brian's mom  
Maggie (Margaret) Clark: Andy's aunt (her older brother Richard is/becomes Andy's father)  
Alice Foster: Claire's aunt (her older sister Betty is/becomes Claire's mother)

The rest you'll have to figure out on your own. Enjoy.

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Saturday, April 25, 1964

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**Chapter One: Saturday Detention

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**

Frank Bender was in a foul mood.

For one, he had to be up at the school at eight o'clock in the morning…on a Saturday. He'd tried to get out of it, but not even his father could help him with this one. In fact, when he'd told him about the detention, the old man had expressed very little sympathy. "You made a mistake," he said gravely. "If this was war, it could have been the last one you ever made."

But it wasn't war--at least, not yet--and Frank was still alive to accept the consequences of his actions: seven hours in the school cafeteria with the school rejects.

Frank pulled his gold 1955 Ford Fairlane out onto the main boulevard, which ran straight through downtown Shermer, and shifted into second gear. Frank was proud of his car. Damn proud. He'd purchased it with his own money on his sixteenth birthday and spent hours touching up the paint job, polishing the hubcaps, and learning how to fix the engine so that it ran real nice. It was his baby. Sure, those new Ford Mustangs were sporty and fast, and they looked really cool, but those were just for looking. Sort of like the girls that wore those short skirts with the boots that went all the way to the knee.

Which made him think of Susan. Frank glanced up at his rearview mirror, where he'd tied a green scarf that Susan had given him when they'd first started dating. _Like the knights and their ladies_, she'd told him. _It shows everyone that I'm your girl._ Frank liked that idea, that Susan belonged to him and no one else. He liked that other people knew it, too.

Suddenly, someone stepped out onto the road in front of him. Frank slammed on the brakes, stopping just in time to avoid hitting a man wearing a long brown jacket and faded blue jeans. The man--a tall, thin guy with long, dark hair a five o'clock shadow--glanced up at Frank and flashed him a boyish grin.

But Frank wasn't amused. "Get off the street!" he shouted out of the driver's side window. "I'm driving here!"

The man's grin widened, and reached up to flash him the peace sign as he passed in front of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk.

Frank ignored him and took off down the street again.

"Fucking Beatnik," he muttered.

* * *

Maggie Clark was bored. 

"…in Ephesians, chapter five, verse eleven, which says, 'Have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather reprove them…'"

Maggie tuned her father out and flipped down the mirror attached to the underside of the sun visor on the passenger's side of the vehicle. She opened her mouth to check for seeds or flecks of toast from breakfast that morning and, finding none, pursed her lips together and pouted. The frosted pink lipstick she'd applied earlier that morning was still in place.

"…and Peter makes it very clear that the Church is to remain pure and set apart from the world so that it shines as a beacon of God's holiness in a godless world…"

Satisfied, Maggie let her eyes drift away from her own reflection. She adjusted the visor slightly, and her older brother Richard came into view. He was sitting in the back seat with his arms crossed loosely over his chest, staring blankly out of the window at the scenery passing by. Maggie watched him for a moment, then snapped the mirror closed and pushed the visor away so that it was pressed firmly against the padded roof of the car.

"…and these things are especially true for our family, Margaret. We are living examples to those around us. This behavior does not go unnoticed."

Maggie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She looked down at her lap and brushed a wrinkle out of her light blue skirt.

"Are you listening to me, Margaret?"

Maggie turned to look at her father, who was glancing back and forth between his teenage daughter and the road in front of him. "Yes, Daddy," she said obediently.

"This is not a joke. I am very serious."

"I know you are, Daddy."

Reverend Clark pulled up to the curb and put the car in 'Park'. He watched his daughter very closely for a moment, then said, "Proverbs 22:1."

Maggie released a shallow, frustrated breath. "Daddy, not now. I--"

"Proverbs 22:1," he said firmly.

Maggie took a deep breath to calm herself. "A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favor rather than silver and gold," she recited flatly.

"Deuteronomy 27:10."

"Thou shalt therefore obey the voice of the Lord thy God, and do his commandments and his statutes, which I command thee this day."

Reverend Clark nodded briefly, pausing for a moment. Maggie stared at the dashboard, waiting.

"Ephesians 6:2," he said finally.

Maggie released an angry sigh, then said, "Honor thy father and mother; which is the first commandment."

Her father smiled and reached out to pat her on the knee. "Remember those words."  
Maggie ignored him. "I have to go now or I'm going to be late," she said.

Reverend Clark sighed. "I'm taking Richard to physical therapy this afternoon, but I'll pick you up at three."

Maggie turned around to get a better look at her brother in the backseat. "Bye, Rich."

Richard didn't even look at her, just kept staring out the window. Maggie pretended that the lack of response didn't bother her and turned back around in her seat. She grabbed her purse from the floor, pushed open the passenger side door, and stepped out onto the curb.

"Margaret."

Maggie closed her eyes to keep from screaming out loud, then turned to face him. "Yes, Daddy?"

Reverend Clark was leaning over her seat to get a better look at her. "No boys," he said solemnly.

Maggie slammed the door shut and walked into the building.

* * *

Jean Miller was _so_ tired of having this conversation. 

"I just don't understand why you have to dress this way all of the time. Do the other girls your age wear pants on the weekends?"

Jean shook her head. "No, I'm pretty sure that they don't."

Mrs. Miller gave her daughter a sideways glance, then looked back at the road. "I just don't understand," she said again.

"It doesn't matter if you understand," Jean responded patiently.

Her mother didn't appear to have heard her. "I just don't think denim is all that attractive," she said distractedly.

Jean didn't respond to this. She knew her mother well enough to know that she wouldn't understand her daughter's feelings about the situation, no matter how many times Jean tried to explain it to her. And she _had_ tried.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Miller pulled into the school parking lot, stopping just behind a white Buick station wagon. Jean grabbed her book bag and prepared to make a quick exit, but her mother put a hand on her arm to stop her. Jean took her hand away from the doorknob and looked back at her mother, waiting.

"Aren't you going to get in trouble for wearing those…_pants_ to school?" she asked, nodding at her daughter's denim capris.

"I don't know," Jean answered honestly.

Mrs. Miller frowned. "Jean, I really wish you wouldn't act so rebellious."

"I'm not acting rebellious," Jean replied.

"So, why do you insist on doing this?"

"On doing what?"

"This!" Mrs. Miller waved a hand in Jean's general direction, indicating her daughter's entire person. "Wearing pants all the time, never putting on any make up. I just wish…"

"Wish what?" Jean prodded.

"I just…" Mrs. Miller paused thoughtfully and looked away. "I just wish you would dress like that," she finished, pointing out the windshield.

Jean followed her mother's gaze to a girl climbing out of the station wagon in front of them. She was wearing a light blue cardigan and matching skirt with a pair of white ballet flats. Her curly blonde hair had been pulled back from her face with a white headband, and her lips were painted light pink. She looked like Cotton Candy Barbie.

Jean turned back to her mother. "I am _never_ going to look like her."

Mrs. Miller attempted a weak smile. "Oh, yes, you could, sweetie. Remember when you had your hair long? You looked so--"

"No," Jean interrupted. "I mean that I never _want _to look like her."

Her mother's brow furrowed in concern. "I just wish you would take some pride in your appearance."

Jean shook her head determinedly. "My appearance is not what matters to me. Why should I spend all of my time on something that I care so little about?"

Mrs. Miller paused. "I worry about you," she said quietly.

"Well, don't," Jean responded firmly. "I have to go or I'll be late."

Her mother nodded reluctantly. "I'll pick you up at three," she promised.

Jean nodded and opened up the car door. She was about to step out onto the sidewalk when she suddenly turned around and kissed her mother on the cheek. "Have a good day," she told her.

Without waiting for her mother to respond, Jean got out of the car and closed the door behind her.

* * *

Alice Foster was nervous. 

She'd never been given a detention before, and she had no idea what to expect. Would the others know one another? Would they make fun of her for being there? Would she be the only girl?

Alice glanced over at her sister, Betty, who was staring out at the road in front of her. "Betty?"

"Hmmm?"

Alice paused, trying to find the words. "Did you ever have to serve detention when you were in school?" she asked finally.

Betty shook her head, and a blonde tendril escaped from the bobby pins holding her hair in place. "No," she said thoughtfully. "I never got in trouble."

"Oh." Alice felt her face flame with embarrassment, and she looked down at her hands, which were folded up in her lap. She reached down to smooth out a wrinkle in her skirt, but the wrinkle didn't cooperate with her. Alice frowned. She'd tried ironing the skirt that morning, but after nearly ten years the iron was on its last leg, and it hadn't been very effective against the rumpled khaki pleats.

"What time do I need to pick you up?"

Alice looked up to see that they'd arrived at school and were parked along the curb just outside of the front entrance behind a white station wagon and a light blue Lincoln Continental. "Oh…uh, three o'clock."

Betty nodded. "Okay." She paused. "Mark is away on a business trip this weekend, so I have the house to myself. If you want to stay over tonight, you can."

"Oh." Alice offered a sympathetic smile. "Mom wanted me to stay home tonight. I think she's cooking pot roast."

Betty nodded casually. "Sure, I understand."

"But you should come over," said Alice. "We'll play board games."

Betty smiled, and Alice thought that she looked a little bit sad. "Maybe," she said kindly.

Alice nodded. "Okay." She turned around in her seat and looked back at her two-year old nephew, Christopher, who was strapped into his car seat in the backseat. "Bye, Christopher."

Christopher waved a sticky hand in her direction. "Bye, bye," he chimed happily.

Alice smiled and turned back around. As she did, a tall, stocky boy wearing khaki trousers and a brown jacket over his plaid button-down shirt passed in front of them, glancing back to get another look at the car. This happened a lot when she drove with her sister. For their one-year anniversary, Betty's husband Mark had bought her a brand new Mercedes convertible, and in a small town like Shermer it really stood out.

"Here."

Alice looked back at Betty, who was fishing around in her wallet. She pulled out a couple of one dollar bills and pressed them into Alice's hand.

"Oh, no, I--"

"Just take it," Betty said firmly. "You may need it to buy a Coke or some milk or something."

Alice wanted to point out that it would probably buy her about twenty bottles of Coke, but she knew better than to argue with her sister when it came to money. Obediently, she stuffed the bills into her book bag and looked back up. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Betty nodded curtly and busied herself with adjusting the rearview mirror. Alice grabbed her bag from the floor and tried one last time to smooth out the wrinkle in her skirt. Once again, the attempt was unsuccessful. Resigned, Alice pushed up her glasses and reached for the door handle.

"Alice."

Alice turned to look back at her sister, who offered her an encouraging smile. "Have a good day," she said.

Alice smiled. "You, too."

* * *

"Get off the street! I'm driving here!" 

_Yeah, no shit_, thought Jack as he passed in front of the car. He considered "accidentally" wiping his hands all over the hood of the guy's car, but reconsidered it when he noticed how huge the guy was. Instead, he reached up and flashed him the peace sign. The gesture had its desired effect; the guy sneered and sped off down the street.

"Have a great day!" Jack shouted after him, cupping his hand around his mouth like a megaphone. The guy didn't stop, just kept driving as if he hadn't heard him.

Jack shoved his hands in his pockets and continued down the sidewalk. It was a chilly morning, colder than he'd expected, and he had nothing but his jacket to protect him from the cold, damp air. What he wouldn't give for a cup of hot, black coffee just then. Hot coffee and a fresh cigarette…breakfast of champions.

But that morning, Jack hadn't had any time for breakfast. He'd woken up twenty minutes before he was scheduled to be in detention and had little time to do anything except brush his teeth and get dressed. He could have grabbed a banana or a piece of bread to eat on the way, but he didn't think about that until he was already out the door, halfway to school. Like his grandfather said, Jack was always flying by the seat of his pants, never planning for the future.

_Fuck you, old man. Who asked you, anyway?_

Jack arrived at school two minutes late, according to the clock in the hallway outside of the cafeteria. He pulled open the doors to the cafeteria, and was met with four different sets of eyes. One set belonged to an overgrown football player with a flat top and a sour expression on his face. On the row behind him sat a pretty blonde girl wearing a white headband and a curious expression. Her eyes flickered down to his jacket, which was covered in buttons, then back up to his face. When she saw that he was watching her, she huffed quietly and looked down at her lap.

Jack nodded politely in the girl's direction as he passed by, but she was still staring down at her hands and didn't notice. A short-haired girl wearing a white men's button-down shirt was sitting across the across the aisle from the blonde. She glanced up at him as he passed, looking decidedly unimpressed. He took a seat on the back row behind the girl with the short hair and glanced across the aisle. On the back row, a couple of rows behind the meathead and the beauty queen, another girl sat by herself. She had long strawberry blonde hair and was wearing thick-framed glasses. She glanced up at him, blushed, then looked back down at the notebook in her lap.

Jack lifted his eyebrows, but didn't say anything. He spend a moment making himself comfortable, which drew a couple of curious stares from the girls in the room. A few seconds passed before the door swung open and principal Carlton Reed, Sr. walked in with a clipboard in one hand.

"Good morning," he said brightly. "If Mr. Reynolds will kindly removed his feet from the top of the table, we'll get started."

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A/N: Just so you know, there will be some similarities between the film and this story simply because it's unavoidable (and in some cases, fun). But not everything will be the same. You'll see what I mean in future chapters.

Please review! Thanks.


	2. Rolling Cigarettes

A/N: There are a few pieces of historical information that you should know if this chapter is going to make any sense to you. First, the Beats didn't indulge in hard liquor or harder drugs, but stuck mainly to tea, coffee, and marijuana. They also liked to roll their own tobacco cigarettes, as you will see in this chapter. A lot of people smoked during this time because it was a lot more glamorous and socially acceptable, and fewer people were aware of the health issues surrounding smoking.

A "flat top" is sort of like a military-style buzz cut. It was a popular style for boys during the late 50's/early 60's.

Also, it's important to know about the differences between schools of the 80's and schools of the 60's. For one, schools of the 60's were more formal. Students were always referred to as "Miss" or "Mr.", not to mock the student (like Vernon), but as a matter of respect. Also, students dressed more formally. Girls NEVER wore pants to school. EVER. Pants or capris (which were becoming popular during this time) were worn during only the most casual of activities, like around the house or whatever. Most girls wore skirts or dresses, without fail, even if they were just going to the movies or something. In this story, Jean is wearing capris. The only reason she's getting away with it is because it's detention and because the principal is not concerned with getting his students in more trouble than they already are.

This chapter is solely from Jack's POV, but the other chapters will be from other POV's.

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Chapter Two: Rolling Cigarettes

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"So, it looks like everyone is here." Principal Reed glanced down at his clipboard again, then tucked it under his arm. "Thank you for being on time."

"No problem whatsoever, Mr. Reed," Jack replied from the back of the room.

Principal Reed smiled indulgently. "I appreciate you enthusiasm, Mr. Reynolds."

Jack bobbed his head in response and leaned forward so that his elbows were resting on the table.

Mr. Reed checked his watch. "Alright, it's 8:08." He put his hand down and looked back out over the rows of tables. "Normally, I would stay here with you for the duration of your stay, but unfortunately the district superintendent, Dr. Fields, has come down with the flu. Dr. Fields was supposed to run our teacher orientation seminar in the library today, but because he won't be there, I will be running it in his absence." He paused. "That means that I am counting on you to discipline yourselves and to conduct yourselves in the manner that you feel is most appropriate to your given situation. Yes, Mr. Reynolds?"

Jack lowered his hand. "So, you're leaving us…_alone_?"

Mr. Reed smiled. "It would appear so."

Jack nodded thoughtfully. "…for seven hours?"

Mr. Reed nodded. "I will be checking in on you occasionally, and I'll probably be sending in one of the teachers from the orientation to make sure that everything is alright. But for the most part, yes, you will be alone." When Jack didn't say anything else, Mr. Reed lifted an eyebrow. "I trust that you don't have any problems with that?"

"No, _sir_."

Mr. Reed nodded. "I'm glad to hear that. I'll be counting on you to keep everyone in line, Mr. Reynolds."

Jack lifted his hand in salute.

"Does anyone else have any questions?"

The girl in the light blue cardigan raised her hand.

Mr. Reed nodded in her direction. "Yes, Miss Clark?"

"What are we supposed to do for _seven_ hours?" she asked hesitantly.

Mr. Reed frowned thoughtfully. "Well, there is no talking. No moving around the room unless you feel that it's absolutely necessary or unless you have to use the restroom. You may work on homework or read, if you brought your books. Otherwise, I'm afraid you're out of luck." He paused. "Unless you would like to make a trip down to the library right now. The orientation doesn't begin for another twenty minutes, and I would be glad to escort you if you wanted to pick something out."

The girl sank down a little lower in her chair and shook her head.

"Anyone else?" asked Mr. Reed.

No one said anything.

"Alright. If there is an emergency, you can find me in the library, though I do ask that you reserve these visits for emergencies only. If you need to use the restroom, then you may use the facilities located at the end of the hall outside of these doors. Please do not travel outside of this hall." He glanced down at his watch one last time, then looked up and smiled. "I'll see everyone in a little while." With that, he nodded politely and swept out the door.

As soon as the principal was gone, Jack started rummaging around in his pocket. After a few seconds, he pulled out a small bag of dried, brown herbs. Tucked inside the bag was a separate bag of rolling papers. Jack opened both bags and started spreading his supplies out on the table.

The flat top on the front row was the first to notice what Jack was up to. "Hey!"

Jack looked up and pointed to himself. "I'm sorry, are speaking to me?"

The guy stood up and walked closer to Jack's table. "Yeah, I'm talking to you. What do you think you're doing?"

Jack looked down at the rolling paper in his right hand. "Well, I _think_ I'm rolling cigarettes, but it's entirely possible that all of us are trapped in some kind of alternate reality where nothing is as it appears."

The other guy ignored the comment. "Put that stuff away! Mr. Reed's gonna come back and see you, and then we're all going to get in trouble!"

Jack waved him off. "Mr. Reed is a smoker, too. I'm sure he understands that a guy can't go seven hours without a cigarette."

The larger boy leaned back, watching Jack closely. "You're that guy!"

Jack ignored him and started sprinkling the herbs onto the cigarette paper.

"You're that guy!" he said again, shaking his head. "The guy that I nearly ran over this morning."

"It's alright," said Jack. "We all make mistakes."

The other guy scoffed. "_You_ stepped out in front of _my_ car!"

Jack shrugged and used his fingers to spread the dried leaves evenly across the paper.

"You need to watch where you're going," the other boy warned, pointing a thick finger in Jack's direction.

"And you need to get your registration sticker replaced," Jack said evenly. "It expired last month."

The taller boy apparently didn't know what to say to this. His nostrils flared and his hands clenched into fists at his side. Jack waited to be dragged out of his seat and thrown against the wall, but nothing happened. After a moment, the boy walked away from Jack's table and went back to his seat.

A few seconds passed by as Jack finished rolling his cigarette. When he'd finished, he lifted the stick to his lips, licked the adhesive edge, and pressed the paper together.

He looked up to see that everyone in the room was watching him. Well, everyone except for the meathead, who was staring at the front wall, clenching and unclenching his fists, pretending that he wasn't paying attention to what was going on behind him.

"Is that…_marijuana_?" The blonde whispered the last word as if just by mentioning the drug's name, she was committing some kind of crime.

Jack lifted his eyebrow. "Why, you interested?"

The blonde pursed her lips together. "No."

"You sure?"

"Yes!"

Jack nodded. "Well, this is just tobacco, but if you change your mind about the--" He glanced around and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "--_marijuana_, then I know of a couple of people that you can talk to."

The girl's jaw clenched in anger. "I don't do _drugs_."

"Why not?"

The girl hesitated. "It isn't right," she said finally.

Jack frowned thoughtfully. "How so?"

The girl shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "It's against the law."

"The government doesn't always know what's right for the people," Jack pointed out. "Maybe they're wrong about this, too."

"The government isn't _wrong_," she said. "And neither is the Bible."

"The Bible?" Jack asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep from smiling. "And what does the _Bible_ say about drugs?"

"That you shouldn't do them," she responded firmly. "It's a sin."

Jack offered a sly grin. "Well, it's a sin to look as good as you do, but that didn't stop you from putting on that skirt this morning, did it?"

The girl's mouth dropped open in shock, but any response she might have had was preempted by the curly-haired girl sitting directly in front of Jack. She scoffed loudly and rolled her eyes.

Jack held out his cigarette. "I'm sorry, did you want one?"

The girl just stared back at him blandly, suggesting that she found his question ridiculous. Jack shrugged and started rummaging around in his jacket pocket for a lighter.

"You're not going to _smoke_ that?" the blonde exclaimed when he brought out the lighter and started fiddling with the clasp.

Jack glanced up. "That's generally how this works," he said patiently.

"That is--" the blonde sputtered. "--that is the rudest thing I have ever heard of!"

Jack looked doubtful. "You can't be serious."

The blonde scoffed. "I certainly am!"

Jack lifted his eyebrows and looked back down at the lighter in his hand. He put the cigarette to his lips and lit the other end. Then he stuck the lighter back into his jacket pocket and took a drag from the cigarette.

The blonde watched him smoke, her eyes clouded over with disapproval. "I could tell Mr. Reed about this," she threatened.

"But you won't," Jack said casually.

"Maybe I will."

Jack shook his head and blew a puff of cigarette smoke to his left, away from where the others were sitting. "He said we were only allowed to bother him if we have an emergency. I doubt that he would consider this an emergency."

The blonde girl huffed and turned back around in her seat. Just in front of her, the meathead with the flat top turned to give Jack a menacing look. Jack shot him a friendly smile, and the guy sneered and turned back around.

Jack glanced to his right, where the girl with the light red hair was sitting, watching him smoke. When she realized that she'd been caught, her face flushed deeply, and she glanced down at the notebook in her lap.

"You want one?" Jack asked.

The girl looked up again. She glanced nervously at the cigarette he was offering her, then shook her head silently.

"You sure?" he prodded.

She nodded, then pushed up her glasses and went back to her notebook. He could see her scribbling something with a ballpoint pin, but she was too far away for him to get a good look. Curious, he let his eyes linger on her hunched figure for a moment before he looked away.

He smoked the rest of his cigarette in relative peace and quiet. When he was finished, he pinched the lit end of the cigarette with his fingertips so that it stopped burning. Then he peeled the paper away from the stub of the cigarette that remained and emptied the extra tobacco into his sack. He stuffed the burned paper into the pocket of his blue jeans and pulled out his fresh papers to roll another one.

"You're not going to smoke another one, are you?"

Jack looked up to see the blonde girl watching him again, just as horrified as before. "All of this cigarette smoke is going to clog my sinuses," she informed him, brushing her fingertips against the edge of her nose for emphasis.

"I'm just getting them ready for later," he explained.

"Later?" she asked indignantly. "You mean, you're going to do this all day?"

"You're not a smoker, are you?" he asked patiently.

The girl wrinkled her nose, as though the very thought disgusted her. "No, I'm not," she said haughtily.

"Well, if you were, you'd know how difficult it can be to go for long periods of time without a cigarette."

"That sounds like you can't stop if you wanted to," she said smugly.

Jack frowned, confused. "Why would I want to?"

The girl didn't have an answer to that. She watched him roll cigarettes for a moment before he looked up at her again.

"You know, I could teach you to smoke these," he offered.

The girl glared at him. "I don't want to learn."

Jack pretended as though he hadn't heard her. "We could go out under the bleachers during lunch sometime. It's a great place to--"

"I would _never_ go out to the bleachers with you," she spat out angrily. "_Ever_."

"I could teach you some other things while we're there, as well," said Jack, lifting his eyebrows suggestively.

The girl's eyes widened dramatically. "Take that back!" she demanded.

"Hey, no need to be embarrassed," Jack assured her. "We have to walk before we can crawl. No shame in that."

The girl's face flushed a deep, rosy pink, and she shook her head, her blonde curls swishing. "That is…_disgusting_," she finished unevenly.

"Hey."

Jack glanced over at the girl in front of him, the one wearing the men's work shirt. She had her eyes narrowed in the blonde's direction, and her head was cocked thoughtfully. "I've seen you before," she said finally.

The blonde opened her mouth to respond, but then Jack saw her face crumple slightly, the anger in her eyes fading into something like fear. She closed her mouth and turned away from them both, rummaging through her purse to distract herself.

Jack glanced back at the girl with short hair, who was still watching the blonde closely. When she noticed him watching her, she turned to face him, arching her eyebrow defiantly. "What?" she demanded.

Jack held his hands up defensively. "Nothing. Sorry."

The girl rolled her eyes and turned around in her seat.

Jack grinned and went back to rolling his cigarettes. If the day progressed in the manner in which it started, he knew he was going to need more where they came from.

* * *

A/N: For this story, I tried to create new stereotypes based on the time period rather than keeping the same five groups we saw from the movie. So, it isn't like one person is "Bender" and another is "Claire", etc. There may be similarities between Claire and Maggie, for instance, but their situations and their personalities are not the same, as you'll see later. Also, there will be a few parallels and references to the film, as you saw in this chapter, but not everything will be the same. I wanted to keep some of the spirit of the original, but also tailor the original story to fit the time period and my own themes.

Please review! Thanks.


	3. The Feminine Mystique

**Historical Info:** In 1963, Betty Friedan published a very controversial book called "The Feminine Mystique". Essentially, it said that women were unfairly expected to conform to society's idea of a perfect wife and mother and to become someone who concerned themselves with her household and family duties, but had no identity outside of the home. The book was the spark that ignited the feminist movement of the 1960's and is still widely regarded as one of the most influential pieces of feminist literature ever written.

And just in case you need to brush up on your U.S. military history (or if you aren't from the U.S.!), the U.S. became involved in World War II in 1941 and fought until the war ended in 1945. Guadalcanal was the site of a very important battle fought on the Pacific front. The Korean War lasted from 1950-1953, and the U.S. was involved for most of that time, helping South Korea.

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Chapter Three: The Feminine Mystique

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The first hour of detention passed rather uneventfully. Both boys fell asleep at their seats, the guy with the flat top slumped over the top of his table and the slacker on the back row lying on top of the table, hands folding over his chest. The blonde girl must have found something interesting in her purse, because its contents kept her occupied for the entire hour. The girl on the back row still hadn't said a word.

Jean was thankful for the books that she'd packed in her knapsack before she left. One of them was a novel she'd checked out from the school library the week before, but the other belonged to her. It was the same one she'd been carrying around for the better part of the year, the one that she'd purchased it at a bookstore in Chicago on a day trip with her mother. She'd been immediately drawn to the title, "The Feminine Mystique", and had purchased it with her own money while her mother was across the street at the shoe store buying a new pair of high heels. She started reading it that very night, and read obsessively for the next three days, holing herself up in her room and turning the pages so quickly that it was a wonder they didn't catch fire. The author, Betty Friedan, wrote about women like Jean's mother, who were expected to conform to society's idea of what a woman should be: a perfect wife and mother. But it wasn't just Jean's mother that Friedan was writing about; it was Jean herself. For the first time in her life, Jean felt like she could do whatever she wanted with her life and no one could tell her otherwise. From that point on, not a day went by that Jean didn't crack open the weathered spine and read a few of her favorite passages.

On Saturday morning, Jean was rereading a passage from the second chapter, which was titled "The Happy Housewife Heroine". Though she was immediately drawn into the subject matter, she found herself increasingly distracted by the blonde girl, who was sitting across the aisle to her right, playing with a hand mirror and a tube of frosted pink lipstick.

But Jean wasn't the only one who was distracted. Behind her, she could hear the table creaking, and she turned around just in time to see the slacker guy sit up straight and run a hand through his dark hair, which was curling up around the collar of his faded brown jacket. He glanced over at the blonde girl and frowned, trying to figure out what she was doing.

A few seconds later, the girl looked up from her mirror and glanced over at Jean, who was still staring at her. "What?" she demanded.

Jean shook her head. "Nothing."

The girl glanced over her shoulder to glare at the boy that was watching her. "What?" she exclaimed, louder this time.

The guy shrugged lazily and swung his legs over the edge of the table so that his feet were resting on the bench below. The girl glared at him for a moment longer, then went back to her mirror.

But a few seconds later, the mirror slammed shut again, and the blonde girl whirled around in her seat. "Stop it!" she shouted.

The long-haired boy's eyes widened in surprise. "What?" he asked, appearing genuinely confused.

The girl just glared at him. "I can see you staring at me!"

The boy frowned. "So?"

"So, stop!"

The boy crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her thoughtfully. "Can I ask you a question?" he asked finally.

"No," she replied without hesitation.

The boy frowned. "You don't even know what my question is."

"Well, I can guess," she replied smugly.

"Okay, what do you think I was going to ask you?"

The girl paused uncomfortably. "I don't know," she admitted finally. "Something about drugs, I'm sure."

The boy laughed out loud, apparently unable to keep it in any longer. To Jean's right, the clean cut boy in the plaid shirt lifted his head from the table, frowning groggily.

"So, you thought I was going to ask you about drugs…" He paused, lifting his eyebrows expectantly.

The girl's face softened. "Maggie," she said stiffly.

"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" he asked, smiling. "I'm Jack, by the way."

Maggie nodded. "I know who you are."

Jack waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "That sounds pretty mysterious. If this is about what those girls are writing about me on the walls of the girls' bathroom, then I can assure that none of it is true." He paused thoughtfully. "Well, _most _of it isn't," he clarified.

Jean resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but Maggie didn't. "That's not what I meant," she said. "I heard about what you did the other day…in front of the school."

Jack tried not to smile, but was unsuccessful. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." She paused. "Is that why you're here?"

Jack shrugged. "Maybe. Why are you here?"

Immediately, the girl looked down at her hands, and Jean could see that she was blushing. "No reason," she said quickly.

Jack lifted his eyebrows doubtfully. "No reason?" he echoed, as if he couldn't believe his own ears.

The blonde girl looked at from her lap. "I don't have to tell you."

Jack smirked. "It must be something really bad if you can't even say it out loud."

Maggie narrowed her eyes. "It's not _bad_. Maybe I just don't want to tell you."

"Yeah, and maybe the moon is really made of cheese," Jack replied eagerly.

Maggie stared at him for a moment before she sighed and looked down at the floor. "I skipped seventh period on Wednesday."

Jack frowned. "Why were you skipping?"

Maggie glanced nervously over at Jean, who just lifted her eyebrows in challenge. The blonde girl glanced back at Jack. "I was feeling sick, so I went home early. I forgot to sign out at the office."

Jack didn't look like he bought the story, but he must have realized that it would do no good to say this out loud. He turned to look at Jean. "What about you?" he asked.

"What about me?" Jean responded.

"What's your name?"

"Jean."

Jack nodded. "Why are you here, Jean?"

"I wore pants to school." She paused. "The vice principal gave me the option of changing into a skirt or coming here."

"And you chose to spend the day with us?" he asked, smirking.

Jean shrugged.

Jack lifted his eyebrows and glanced down at Jean's legs, which were hidden by the wooden table top. "Must not have learned your lesson," he observed.

Jean glanced down at her denim capris, then back up at Jack. "No, I didn't," she responded truthfully.

Jack nodded slowly. "So, this is like a women's rights deal, huh?"

Jean narrowed her eyes. "Something like that."

Jack nodded again, then leaned back so that his palms were resting flat against the table behind him. "I'm all for women's rights," he assured her.

Jean scoffed. "Yeah, a woman's right to go out behind the bleachers with you."

Jean could hear Maggie's sharp intake of breath from across the aisle.

Jack shrugged. "If her heart leads her down that path, who am I to deny her what she really wants?"

Jean opened her mouth to respond, but the guy across the aisle beat her to the punch.

"I know your type."

Jean turned around to get a better look at the boy who was talking. "Do you now?" she asked.

The boy nodded. "Yeah, I do. You're one of those girls that thinks that women are better than men."

Jean frowned. "Not better. _Equal_. There's a difference."

"And what does equal mean?" he asked.

"It means that women can do anything a man can do. Go to college, get a job, start their own business--"

The boy interrupted her with a sharp laugh. "Their own business?" he asked incredulously. "That's ridiculous."

"Why?" Jean demanded.

The boy scoffed. "Because business is a man's field. A woman can't do the same things that a man can. Men are good at it; women aren't."

"How do you know?" Jean asked him. "You won't even give us a chance."

"I don't need to. I just know," he said. "Business is in a man's head. Men and women think different."

"Differently," Jean corrected him. "And, no, they don't."

"Hey, I have nothing against women, okay?" the guy said, holding up his hands for emphasis. "But it's just a fact of nature. Men are good at hard work and business, and women are good at--"

"Let me guess," Jean interrupted. "Vacuuming…in their pearls and heels."

Frank blinked. "What?"  
"Well, that's what a good wife does, right? Vacuums and makes babies."

The guy paused, then shrugged. "I guess."

Jean liked to think of herself as a calm, reasonable person, but guys like the one in front of her made her so mad that it was all she could do not to punch him in the face or stalk out of the room. She took a deep breath to calm herself and looked him in the eye. "I know your type, too," she told him.

The guy lifted an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? What is my type?"

"You're the macho guy that puts women down to make himself feel better."

The guy scoffed. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "I don't put women down. I have a girlfriend and a mother, and I would never treat them badly."

Jean nodded. "What is your name?" she asked the boy.

The guy paused. "Frank."

"Well, Frank," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Women can do more than get married and have babies. They can be doctors and lawyers and--"

"See, that's what I'm talking about," he interrupted. "Women aren't good at that kind of thing."

Jean jutted her chin out defiantly. "I'm going to be a doctor," she said proudly.

Frank blinked. "_You're_ going to be a doctor?"

Jean nodded. "And if you're going to say that a man will never see a female doctor, then don't bother. I'm not going to be that kind of doctor."

Frank nodded. "And what kind of doctor _are_ you going to be?"

"A gynecologist."

Frank burst out laughing, and Maggie gasped. "Can we stop talking about this, please?" she asked.

"No," Jean said bluntly.

The blonde pursed her lips together, but didn't say anything else. Frank wiped his eyes with the pads of his fingers and looked back up at Jean. "So, you're going to be a gynecologist?" he asked her.

Jean nodded.

"And, uh…" He frowned thoughtfully. "How are you going to have time to do that and take care of your family?"

"Family?" Jean echoed.

Frank nodded. "Yeah. Husband, kids…"

"I'm not getting married," Jean informed him.

Frank paused, looking at her as though he was afraid he'd heard her wrong. "You're not?" Jean shook her head. "Why, are you a lesbian or something?" he asked.

Maggie gasped, and Jack burst out laughing. Jean realized that her heart was running a mile a minute. She took another shallow breath to calm herself down.

"I choose not to get married," she said firmly. "It's a choice, one that I don't have to be a lesbian to make."

"Everyone gets married," said Frank.

"Not me."

Frank regarded her thoughtfully, nodding his head. "You will," he said finally.

Jean shook her head. "Never."

Frank just kept nodding. "You will," he said again. "You'll give in. Everyone gives in."

Jean ground her teeth together. "I will never be that person," she swore. "_Ever_."

Frank lifted his eyebrows and shrugged dismissively. Jean looked away from him and tried to focus on breathing normally.

"What are you going to be then?" Jean heard Maggie ask. Jean glanced back just in time to see Frank ran his hand over his close-cropped hair.

"I'm going into the Marines," he answered. "Right after I graduate."

"You gonna kill communists?" Jack asked sarcastically.

Frank must not have picked up on his ironic tone because he nodded. "Yeah."

Jack lifted his eyebrows but didn't say anything else.

"My dad was in the Marines during World War II," Frank went on. "He was a Lieutenant Colonel."

"Is that good?" Maggie asked.

"Yeah, it is," Jack responded.

Frank glanced up at him. "Your dad in the war, too?"

Jack paused, eyeing him carefully. "Korea," he said finally.

Frank nodded. "My uncle was in Korea. He was only a teenager during World War II or he would have joined then."

Jack didn't respond to this, just stared back at him, his expression blank.

But Frank didn't seem to have noticed. "But my dad, he saw a lot of action. He was in the 1st Marine Division that was the first to land in Guadalcanal in '42," he informed them.

Jean glanced back at Jack, who was still watching Frank closely. As she watched, the bland expression on his face developed into something a bit less serious. "So, you're gonna follow in your daddy's footsteps?" he asked him.

Frank narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Yeah, something like that."

"That's a lot to live up to," Jack pointed out.

"I think I can handle it," Frank retorted.

Jack shrugged doubtfully. "If you say so," he said, turning back around in his seat.

But Frank wasn't finished. "Hey!"

Jack fished a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and pulled out his lighter.

"I'm talking to you," Frank said, standing from his seat and walking over to Jack's table.

Jack lit his cigarette and took a drag, letting the smoke escape through his nostrils.

Frank jabbed a finger in Jack's direction. "I warned you," he reminded him. "You keep smoking, and Mr. Reed's gonna think we're all doin' it. He could expel every one of us!"

Maggie glanced over at Jean, eyes wide. "Could he really do that?" she asked anxiously.

Jean ignored her and turned back to watch the boys.

"Reed isn't going to expel anyone," Jack said calmly.

Frank shook his head angrily. "You'd love to take us all down with you, wouldn't you? It's not any fun if you're the only one that gets caught. You have to drag us into it, too."

"Cool it, man," Jack said, laughing. "It's a cigarette, not a conspiracy. Don't get so excited."

Jean watched as Frank's face grew redder. Without warning, he reached forward and grabbed Jack by the collar of his jacket, lifting him out of his seat and pinning him against the brick wall not two feet away from where the redhead with the glasses was sitting, frozen in fear. The cigarette dropped out of Jack's hand and landed on the floor.

"I am _this close _to givin' you a knuckle sandwich!" Frank warned.

Jack smirked. "Did you just say _knuckle sandwich_?"

Frank answered by releasing one hand from Jack's collar and pulling it back into a fist, ready to strike. But before he could do anything, the cafeteria doors burst open.

"Hey! What's going on in here? Who started this ruckus?"

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**A/N:** I just want to point out that Frank's views about women were very common in the 1950's and 60's. Most men (and women) believed that women simply weren't made to perform the tasks that were usually reserved for men. So, even though he comes off as a complete jerk, most men of his time would probably agree with him. I'm not defending his position, just trying to be fair, given the context.

Please review! It's free, and it makes me really happy. ;)


	4. Anger Management

A/N: In April of 1964 (when this story takes place), the Beatles held the top five spots on the Billboard 100. Needless to say, they were pretty popular around this time. Also, remember that a Beatnik is a derogatory term describing someone that is part of the counter-culture, kind of like a hippie before they were called hippies. They wore Converse sneakers a lot, and they loved coffee and jazz. : )

Sorry that I took this chapter down the first time I posted it. I realized right after I posted it that it was too short and that I should make it worth your time for stopping by. : ) So, here is the new and improved chapter four. I hope you like it.

Page breaks signify scene/POV changes. This chapter is different from the others because there are three different POVs this time, so watch out for that.

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Chapter Four: Anger Management

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"Hey! What's going on in here? Who started this ruckus?"

Frank released Jack's collar and stepped back, turning to see who had just entered the room. It was a young guy, maybe twenty-five, with a full head of jet black hair and a light grey suit. He made long strides in Frank's direction, covering the short distance in a matter of seconds.

"I said, what's going on here?" he demanded.

"It wasn't me, sir," Frank protested, jabbing his finger in Jack's direction. "He started it."

The guy narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Is that why you had him pinned up against the wall, ready to punch him in the face?"

Frank pursed his lips together, to angry to say anything.

The guy nodded. "What's your name?"

Frank paused. "Frank Bender."

The guy nodded and glanced over at Jack. "And you?"

Jack held out his hand. "Jack Reynolds. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister…?"

The man ignored Jack's hand. "I'll give you my name when I feel that it's necessary, Mr. Reynolds."

Jack bobbed his head understandingly.

Suddenly, the guy stepped back, head cocked suspiciously. "Do I smell cigarette smoke?"

Frank shifted his feet nervously, refusing to look over at Jack. This was it, the moment they all got expelled. All because some fucking Beatnik couldn't keep a lid on his habit.

"That would be me, sir," said Jack. "My mother smokes, and I'm afraid that everything in our house smells like cigarettes…even my clothing."

The older man regarded him carefully, then offered a short nod. Frank released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Sit down," the man said to Jack, motioning to the table next to him.

Jack nodded, and Frank looked down just in time to see him lift his foot, revealing that the cigarette he'd dropped earlier was crunched under one of his scuffed up Converse sneakers. Jack kicked it under his table and took a seat.

"And you."

Frank looked up to see that the guy was looking back at him again.

"Where's your seat?" he asked.

Frank pointed to a table a couple of rows up.

"Well, then I'd suggest you find it again."

Frank nodded and started walking down the aisle. The guy followed him, pausing at the front of the room as Frank sat down. He put his hands on his hips and stared out over the rows of tables, memorizing each face.

"My name is Mr. Vernon," he said finally. "Mr. Reed asked me to come check in on you all to make sure that everything was running smoothly."

"Are you a teacher?" Jack called out from the back row.

Mr. Vernon clenched his jaw in anger. "Do not interrupt me while I'm talking. If you have a question, you can raise your hand."

Jack paused, then raised his hand. "Are you a teacher?" he asked again, not bothering to wait until Vernon called on him.

The man stared at him for a moment, obviously trying to keep his control. "Yes, I am a teacher," he said finally. "I'm taking part in the orientation that Mr. Reed is running in the library today. Mr. Reed chose me to come down here to check in on you." He squared his shoulders, obviously proud of himself.

No one said anything.

"And I arrived not a moment too soon, I see," he continued, glancing over at Frank. "I will be checking in on you periodically throughout the day, so I'd suggest that you settle down and behave yourselves. No more monkey business."

Once again, no one said anything.

Mr. Vernon cleared his throat. "Well, I'll be needing to get back to the orientation now," he said, glancing down at his watch. "But you can be sure that Mr. Reed will find out about this little scuffle." He looked over at Frank. "I have my eye on you."

Frank's hands clenched into fists under the table.

The older man glanced out over the rows of tables. "I have my eye on all of you." He glanced from one student to the next, glaring ominously at each one. "All of you." Then he turned around and walked out the door.

"How can he keep one eye focused on five people at once?" Jack asked as soon as the door had closed. "That's impossible, right?"

Frank turned around to glare at him. "Why don't you just be quiet? Haven't you done enough damage already?"

"What damage? Neither of us got in trouble."

Frank scoffed. "You idiot! He's going to tell Mr. Reed about this. It could go on my permanent record."

Jack cocked an eyebrow. "Well, it'll be right at home, won't it? Especially after what happened earlier this week?"

Frank shook his head angrily, but he felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him as well. "That's none of your business."

Jack held up his hands in self defense. "I'm just saying that maybe you should look into these anger issues. They seem to be causing you a lot of problems of late, and I have to be honest, it's a little frightening."

Frank's nostrils flared in anger. "You don't even know what you're talking about, so why don't you just do everybody a favor and shut up?"

Jack nodded understandingly. "No problem."

Frank continued glaring at him for a few seconds, then glanced over at Maggie, who was watching him, biting her lip nervously.

"What?" he demanded.

Maggie shook her head. "Nothing. I just…" She took a deep breath. "Is it true what they said?"

Frank opened his mouth to tell her to mind her own business, but something in her tone made him stop. He clenched his jaw and turned back around in his seat.

But he knew that the others were watching him. He could feel their eyes boring holes into the back of his head, and he hated them for it. All because the greasy-haired clown on the back row was bored and needed a little live entertainment to get him through the day.

"_I'm sorry, son, but this just isn't how the Man of the Year behaves. I'm afraid we're passing the title along to someone else."_

Frank's breathing grew a bit ragged, and he forced himself to take a deep breath through his nose. _It's all going to be okay_, he told himself. _You just have to get through one lousy detention…_

Behind him, Frank heard one of the tables squeak, and he knew that Jack was either sitting or lying on top of his.

…_without killing anyone._

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Jack stretched his legs out so that they were dangling over the edge of the table and looked out over the room. Frank was still facing forward, his hands clenched into tight fists, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. Jean had returned to her book, but he could tell that she was too distracted by everything that had just happened to really focus, as she kept glancing up every few seconds to see if Frank had calmed down. Maggie was doing pretty much the same thing, but she looked a lot more nervous about the situation than Jean did. The girl with the strawberry blonde hair had buried herself in her notebook again, but she was sneaking furtive glances at the others as if she was just waiting for everything to explode.

Jack watched the girl as she scribbled quietly in her notebook, her shoulders folded inward as though she were trying to protect herself and her words from prying eyes. Her long, slightly messy hair fell forward, creating a light red curtain that hid the side of her face. Every once in a while, she would reach up and finger the slim gold locket that dangled from her neck and settled against the front of her dark blue turtleneck when she let go of it again.

Jack had been watching her for a couple of minutes when the girl suddenly glanced up at him. Jack lifted his eyebrows, and the girl's eyes went wide. She looked back down at her lap and tilted the notebook away from him.

Jack looked back at the others, who had calmed down a little bit and were looking decidedly less nervous than they had a few minutes earlier. He stretched his arms out in front of him and released a loud yawn.

"I could use some coffee," he said loudly.

Immediately, Frank's shoulders tensed, but he didn't turn around. Maggie turned to look back at Jack.

"I can't stand coffee," she told him. "It tastes so bitter if you don't put lots of milk and sugar in it."

Jack turned up his nose in disgust. "I don't put anything in it."

It was Maggie's turn to look disgusted. "My daddy drinks it that way. Black."

Jack looked up at the clock above the doorway. 9:28. "You think they've started the next session yet?" he asked.

Maggie frowned. "You mean the teachers?"

Jack nodded. "They're probably back to work, don't you think?"

She shrugged, obviously confused about why he was asking.

Jack shoved off from the table and started walking down the center aisle. "I'm gonna run over to the teacher's lounge and grab a cup of coffee. Anyone want to come?"

Maggie's eyes grew wide. "You can't go to the teacher's lounge!"

"Why not?"

"Because it's for teachers!"

Jack waved dismissively. "They won't mind. I'm just getting some coffee."

Maggie shook her head. "You're going to get caught."

"No, I won't," Jack assured her. "We're allowed to leave if we have to use the restroom, aren't we? If someone finds me, I'll just tell them I got lost."

Maggie sighed, but didn't say anything else.

Jack glanced over at Jean. "What about you?"

Jean shook her head. "I don't drink coffee."

Jack nodded and glanced over at Frank. The larger boy was staring at the wall in front of him, making a point to ignore him. Jack looked back at the last row, where the red-haired girl was watching them.

"Do you drink coffee?" he asked her.

The girl's lips parted slightly, and then she nodded. "Sometimes," she said quietly.

"Cream and sugar?"

The girl paused. "A little bit of sugar."

Jack's mouth curled into a sly smile. "Good. I'll bring some back for you."

The girl opened her mouth to say something, then stopped. She nodded and looked back down at her lap.

"Last chance," said Jack, pointing at Maggie. "I'm sure they've got lots of cream and sugar."

Maggie rolled her eyes. "No, thank you."

Jack shrugged. "Your loss."

Out in the hallway, Jack made no attempt to hide himself. As he'd reminded Maggie, Principal Reed had given them permission to leave the cafeteria if they needed to use the restroom, and he knew that there was no reason to start acting nervous if he didn't need to. Besides, he was pretty sure that he wasn't going to run into anyone.

The teacher's lounge was about halfway between the cafeteria and the library, with two or three hallways separating it from each location. Jack glanced inside and, finding it empty, made a beeline for the coffee machine. Much to his surprise and pleasure, the pot was almost full, and the coffee inside was still steaming hot. He grabbed two ceramic mugs from the cabinet above the counter and filled them as full as he dared. He didn't know exactly how much sugar the red-haired girl preferred, so he estimated to the best of his ability, hoping it was alright.

He'd finished fixing the coffee and was preparing to make a quick exit when he heard it: music, faint and muffled, coming from somewhere down the hall. Leaving the mugs on the counter, Jack walked back out into the hallway, his ears straining for the noise. He walked in the opposite direction from which he came, heading toward the library. As he walked, the music grew a little bit louder, and Jack recognized the song. "Love Me Do" by the Beatles.

Finally, Jack found where the music was coming from. He stopped in front of the janitor's closet, listening for clues about who was in there and finding none. Finally, he yanked open the door.

There was a boy on the floor--probably 12 or 13--whistling and bobbing his head to the music pouring out of a small, handheld radio at his feet. He was wearing a pair of blue jeans, a blue-striped shirt, and a pair of white sneakers that had seen far better days. When he realized he wasn't alone, he glanced up from his radio, the whistle dying on his lips.

Jack leaned against the doorjamb, eyebrow cocked expectantly. "Who are you?"

* * *

Maggie Clark looked up at the clock on the wall and sighed. Jack had been gone for almost twenty minutes, but she wasn't sure whether that meant that he'd gotten caught or not. More importantly, she didn't know whether or not she was _hoping_ he would get caught.

Maggie glanced across the aisle, where Jean had buried herself in her book again. She tried to get a glimpse of the spine or cover, but couldn't make out the title.

"What are you reading?"

Jean looked up, finger pressed against the page to hold her place. She angled the book so that Maggie could get a better look.

"The Feminine Mystique," Maggie sound out loud. "Is that a novel?"

Jean shook her head. "No, it's a critique of the modern woman's place in the home and how society's expectations are having a negative effect on how women see themselves."

Maggie blinked. "Oh."

"It's a very good book. I highly recommend it."

"I don't really read that much," Maggie admitted.

"Why not?"

Maggie shrugged. "It just seems kind of boring."

Jean considered this for a moment. "I guess that just depends on what you read," she said finally.

Before Maggie could respond, the cafeteria doors burst open and a young boy walked in, followed closely by Jack, who was balancing two cups of coffee. "Everybody look sharp. We have company," he announced.

Maggie's mouth dropped open. "Who is that?"

Jack ignored her and glanced down at the kid. "You can set that up on the table over there."

The kid nodded and set his radio on the table. He flicked the dial over to FM and a catchy pop song flooded out of the speakers.

"What is going on here?" Maggie exclaimed.

"Turn that radio off!" Frank shouted. "Mr. Reed's going to hear it, and we're all going to get in trouble."

The kid shook his head, not even bothering to look up. "He'll be mad at me, not you."

Maggie's eyes went wide, and she glanced over at Frank, who looked like he was just as confused as she was.

Jack headed down the center aisle toward the back row, where the quiet girl with the glasses was sitting. He glanced back and forth between the cups in his hands, then placed one of them on the table in front of her. "I think that's the one."

The girl took a tiny sip from the cup, then looked back up and offered Jack a hesitant smile. "It's good. Thank you."

Jack nodded, pleased with himself. "No problem."

Maggie turned around to look back at the boy, who was still hunched over his radio, searching for a good station. He looked like he was probably about twelve. His dark brown hair was short and messy, and he was dressed very casually, as though he had been on his way to the ballpark for a game of catch when Jack found him and hauled him into the cafeteria.

Jack walked back up the center aisle and set his mug of coffee down next to the radio. "Did you get it?"

The kid nodded. "I don't get very good reception in here, but it'll be good enough."

Jack nodded. "We're not picky, are we?" he asked, glancing up at Maggie.

"What is going on?" Maggie asked again. "Who is this?"

"Oh, right," said Jack. "Everybody, this is Carl. Carl, this is everybody."

Carl glanced up and nodded hello.

"What is he doing here?" asked Maggie.

Jack frowned. "Is that any way to treat our guest?" He turned to Carl and offered the boy an apologetic smile. "Maggie didn't mean that."

The boy nodded understandingly, and Maggie glared at Jack.

"Carl is Mr. Reed's son," Jack explained.

Jean frowned. "Does he always bring you to work with him?"

Carl shrugged and bent down over the radio again. "He usually doesn't have to work on Saturdays, but somebody got sick, so he had to be here."

"What about your mom?" asked Maggie. "Can't she take care of you?"

Carl shook his head, still fiddling with the dial. "She died when I was three."

There was a moment of silence as Maggie exchanged glances with Frank, who looked about as uncomfortable as she did. The only person who didn't look uncomfortable was Carl, who was still hunched over the radio, oblivious to the tension in the air. In fact, he seemed pretty unfazed by the entire situation.

After a moment, the boy glanced up at Jack. "Is this okay? It's the Top 40 station."

Jack paused, listening. Leslie Gore's "It's My Party" was halfway through the first verse.

"Nah, too whiny," said Jack. "Can't you find us some jazz?"

Carl nodded and kept turning the dial.

"Is he allowed to be in here?" Maggie asked.

Jack shrugged. "Probably not, but it's better than the janitor's closet."

"Janitor's closet?" Maggie echoed.

Jack nodded, but didn't offer any further explanation.

A few seconds later, Carl looked up from his radio, smiling triumphantly. "Jazz."

Jack listened for a moment, then broke into a grin. "Good work, man. Have a seat." He motioned to the space right next to the radio, and the boy sat down on the top of the table, letting his legs rest on the bench below. Jack sat down next to him and picked up his coffee mug.

"Is your dad going to be mad that you're here?" Maggie asked Carl.

The boy shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."

Maggie paused uncertainly. "Where are you supposed to be?"

"In my dad's office. I got bored."

"So, why go to the janitor's closet?" asked Jean.

"So I can smoke," Carl answered.

Maggie's jaw dropped open. "Cigarettes?"

The boy nodded. "It smells like cigarette smoke in there anyway, so no one ever notices the difference."

"You smoke?" Frank asked. "What, are you like twelve or something?"

Carl nodded. "I'm almost thirteen. My birthday's in September."

Maggie didn't know what to say. It was bad enough that Jack smoked, but this kid was only _twelve_. "Where do you get cigarettes?" she asked, not sure if she really wanted to know the answer or not.

"From my friends…and my dad. He's really forgetful, so he never remembers how many he has."

Jack burst out laughing, and Maggie turned to glare at him. "That's not funny!" she scolded him.

Jack shook his head and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Come on, lighten up. It's not like he's out robbing liquor stores." He glanced over at Carl. "Wait, you're not, are you?"

The boy frowned. "I stole a pack of gum from Hank's Soda Shop the other day."

Jack glanced back at Maggie, his expression serious. "Looks like you were right. This is worse than we thought."

Maggie narrowed her eyes at him, but didn't say anything.

The jazz number on the radio finished, and the announcer cut in with a commercial. "See what else is on," Jack said, nudging Carl with his elbow.

Carl leaned over the radio and started playing with the dial. When he found a station playing "I Want to Hold Your Hand" by the Beatles, he looked up at Jack. "Cool, another one."

Jack nodded and took another sip of his coffee. "Turn it up, man."

Carl grinned and turned up the volume. Maggie glanced over at Frank, who was frowning. "The library isn't that far away," he pointed out. "They can probably hear it."

Jack shook his head. "It's far enough."

Frank sighed angrily, but didn't say anything else.

"Our man Carl is a big fan of The Beatles," Jack informed them.

The boy nodded solemnly. "I'm gonna be John Lennon."

"For Halloween?" asked Frank.

Carl shook his head. "No, I'm going to _be_ him."

Frank paused uncertainly. "You can't _be_ someone that already exists."

Carl shrugged.

"Frank, you're crushing his spirit," said Jack, shaking his head sadly.

Frank scoffed. "So what? It's not possible."

Jack turned to Carl. "It's okay, man. You do what you want to do, and don't listen to anyone that tells you otherwise."

Carl narrowed his eyes. "You sound like my dad."

Jack nodded. "Your dad's an okay guy. You should listen to him."

Carl nodded. "He's alright. He gets kind of funny when he has to tell me about something that makes him uncomfortable, though."

"Like what?" asked Jean.

"Like girls and sex and stuff."

Maggie could feel her face heating up, but she forced herself not to say anything, knowing that the others would just make fun of her for it if she did.

Jack was smiling, on the verge of laughter. "Oh, yeah? What does he do?"

Carl frowned. "He starts talking really fast and saying the wrong words." He shrugged. "I don't know what the big deal is. I already know all about it, anyway."

Jack glanced over at Jean. "We should petition for Mr. Reed to teach sex ed," he said eagerly.

Jean rolled her eyes, but Maggie could tell that she was trying not to smile.

Carl glanced down at his watch. "I should probably be getting back to my dad's office. He'll be mad if he comes in and I'm not there."

Jack stood from the table and waited for Carl to get down, then offered him his hand. "Carl. It was a pleasure to meet you."

Carl shook his hand. "You, too."

"So, we'll see you later?" Jack asked.

Carl nodded. "I'll probably be back."

Jack nodded. "Take care, man."

Carl grabbed his radio, then offered the group a casual wave and headed out the door. As soon as the door closed behind him, Jack turned back to face the rest of the group.

"When Mr. Reed comes back," he said, "I am _definitely_ asking him where babies come from."

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A/N: Thanks for all of the reviews. I really appreciate them. 


	5. Free Love

**A/N: **Historical notes for this chapter: The term "hippie" didn't really become part of the slang until the mid to late 1960's, but it was coined earlier than that. From wikipedia: "The first use of the word _hippie_ on US television was at the opening of the New York World's Fair on April 22, 1964. Some young anti-Vietnam War protesters, wearing t-shirts, denim jeans and with long hair, staged a sit-in and were called _hippies_ by NYPD officers and reporters. The police fought with and swung their batons at them to chase them off the escalators and they fought back and were arrested. Before that date, the type was generally referred to as beatnik." This story conveniently takes place three days later, on April 25, 1964.

Just a reminder: Alice's sister Betty is Claire's mom. If you ever forget who anyone is, I have a "cast" list at the beginning of the first chapter.

And everyone's been asking so nicely for Alice's POV that I decided to have pity and put you all out of your misery. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

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Chapter Five: Free Love

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Alice Foster was a romantic.

She would never admit to it, if she had anyone to admit it _to_. She didn't have many friends at school, just a couple of girls that she sat next to in class or studied with on the weekends. They never talked about personal things like boys or dating, which came as both a relief and a frustration to Alice, who had never had a steady boyfriend or even been kissed. The only person that ever talked with her about things like that was her older sister Betty, who would ask Alice if there were any boys that she liked or if anyone had asked her to a school dance. Alice felt relatively comfortable discussing those things with her sister, who was so much more poised and mature than Alice would ever be. Part of her hoped that some of Betty's confidence would rub off on her, but so far it hadn't. The only romance in her life came from her books and rare trips to the drive-in movie theater across town.

So, Alice wrote stories.

She wrote her first story when she was ten years old. It was short and unrealistic, like most first stories are. Something about a medieval knight and a fair maiden, with a white horse thrown in for good measure. Amateur stuff to say the least, but Alice didn't care. Six years later, she still remembered how wonderful it felt pretending to be the beautiful girl with the jewel-toned dresses and the flowers tucked into her long, flowing hair. And then there was the handsome knight, with his sword and his chivalry, and soon Alice was addicted to her own stories.

Not that she spent all of her time in her fantasy world, or that romance was the only thing she wrote about. As the years passed, Alice's stories became more and more realistic, or at least she liked to think that they did. She couldn't be certain, since she never showed them to anyone else, even Betty. If anyone ever found out what she wrote about, Alice was pretty sure that she would crawl into a hole and never come out.

"I'm really hungry."

Alice looked up to see Maggie, the pretty blonde girl in the blue cardigan, sigh deeply. "It's almost noon. When is Mr. Reed going to be back?"

No one answered. They hadn't seen Mr. Reed since he first left to run the teacher orientation that morning. Mr. Vernon had been in to check on them a couple of times, but he hadn't caught anyone doing anything they weren't supposed to be doing, and Alice thought that he looked a little bit disappointed at this fact, even though she wasn't quite sure why. Every time he left the cafeteria to return to the orientation, he would glare at Frank and Jack for a long time before he walked out into the hallway again.

Alice glanced over at Jack, who was sitting across the aisle from her, fiddling with a metal lighter. He hadn't smoked any more cigarettes since he'd spent most of the morning sleeping, and Alice wondered when he was going to pull out his little plastic bag again. She knew she probably wasn't supposed to, but she kind of liked the smell of tobacco.

Suddenly, the cafeteria door opened, and Mr. Reed walked in holding a tray of milk cartons. Everyone immediately straightened up in their seat. Alice closed the notebook in her lap and slipped it into her knapsack.

"Psst."

Alice glanced across the aisle at Jack, who was looking at her. He pointed down to his lap, then nodded in her direction. Alice, who could only imagine what he was suggesting, felt herself turn beet red. She started to turn away from him, but then she realized that he was pointing to the coffee mug that he was holding under the table. She glanced over at her own empty mug, which was sitting on the table in front of her, then up at Mr. Reed, who was setting the tray down on a table near the front of the room. She grabbed the mug and stuffed it into her knapsack, right next to her notebook. When she looked back at Jack for confirmation, he smiled and winked at her, then turned around so that he was facing front again.

Alice's stomach fluttered pleasantly in response.

"Has everyone had a good morning?" asked Mr. Reed.

"Yes, sir," Jack called out. "And yourself?"

Mr. Reed offered Jack an indulgent smile. "My morning was just fine, Mr. Reynolds. I appreciate you asking. However, it probably would have been better if I hadn't received some disappointing reports from Mr. Vernon, who has been kind enough to check in on you in my absence."

The group was silent. Alice felt her stomach tighten apprehensively, waiting for what was coming next. Even though she hadn't been involved in the scuffle between Jack and Frank, she still felt partially responsible, and she didn't want either of the boys to get in trouble.

Mr. Reed looked over at Frank. "Mr. Bender. I expect you in my office at 7:30 on Monday morning. We'll discuss this then."

Frank nodded politely, though Alice could tell that he wasn't happy about it.

Mr. Reed then turned to look at Jack. "And Mr. Reynolds, I would like to see you as well. If you would please stop by and visit me during your lunch period on Monday."

Jack bobbed his head in agreement. "Yes, sir."

Mr. Reed nodded, and Alice thought that he looked a bit relieved to have that out of the way. "Well, then. It's about twelve o'clock. If you'd like to eat your lunches now, you can. Does anyone want anything to drink?"

Everyone raised their hand.

Mr. Reed picked up the tray of milk cartons and walked between the aisles, letting each student take one. Alice accepted hers, then pulled her lunch sack out of her bag. All she'd had for breakfast that morning was a piece of toast and the coffee Jack had brought her, and she could feel her stomach rumbling with hunger.

"Does anyone have any other requests before I leave?" asked Mr. Reed.

No one said anything.

Mr. Reed nodded. "Then I'll be leaving you alone to eat." He paused and glanced over at Frank, then Jack. "And I expect that Mr. Vernon will having nothing more to report to me this afternoon."

"Nothing whatsoever, Mr. Reed," said Jack.

"That's very good to hear," the principal responded. "Enjoy your lunches." He nodded politely, picked up his empty tray and disappeared out into the hallway.

When the principal was gone, Alice pulled a sandwich and a banana from her paper lunch sack. She'd just started unpeeling her banana when she heard a light tapping sound coming from across the aisle. She looked over to see Jack cupping his mug in his hands, tapping it gently against the wooden table. He hadn't pulled out his lunch yet, and Alice suspected that he hadn't packed one.

A couple of minutes passed quietly before Jack stood up, mug in hand. Alice watched him walk down the center aisle, heading for the lunch counter.

Frank was the next to notice what was going on. "Hey! What are you doing?"

Jack ignored him and hopped up onto the counter, his scuffed-up sneakers squeaking loudly against the buffed wooden surface. Then he jumped down onto the other side, where the kitchen was located.

"Hey, you can't do that!" Frank shouted after him. He stood from his seat and craned his head to get a better look behind the lunch counter, but Jack had disappeared into the kitchen, and no one could see him. After a few seconds, Frank sat down, letting out a loud, frustrated sigh.

Alice looked over at Maggie and Jean, who were staring at the lunch counter. Maggie looked apprehensive, like she was waiting for something really bad to happen, but Jean just looked curious. In the kitchen, a door slammed loudly, and something else clattered against the floor. Jean's eyebrows went up, but she didn't say anything.

A couple of minutes later, Jack reappeared behind the lunch counter holding a tray of food. He set the tray down and vaulted over the partition, landing roughly on the wooden counter. Then he jumped onto the floor, picked up his tray and started walking back to his seat.

"What did you do?" Frank demanded, standing up in his seat again. "You can't just _take_ that!"

Jack stopped in front of Frank's table, frowning. "Why not?" he asked, appearing genuinely confused.

"Because it's not yours! You're stealing it!" Frank replied, as though it were obvious.

Jack picked up an apple from his tray and bit into it. "Rut a is ine."

Frank paused. "What?"

Jack swallowed his bite of apple and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. "I said, it is mine. I paid for it."

Frank scoffed. "Oh, you did, did you?"

Jack nodded. "With my tax-payer's dollars." He took another bite of his apple and let his hand fall to his side.

Frank let out a sharp, indignant chuckle. "Are you kidding?"

Jack shook his head. "This apple is mine."

Frank shook his head. "You don't pay taxes."

Jack paused, considering this for a moment. "That's true," he admitted finally. "But my mother has been paying for them on my behalf for nearly eighteen years." He turned to look at Maggie and Jean. "I'm sorry, would either of you like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?"

Jean started laughing, but Maggie shook her head quickly. "No."

Jack shrugged and glanced back at Frank. "I suppose it would be pointless to offer you anything, so…" He nodded politely in Frank's direction and continued down the aisle towards his seat.

But Frank wasn't finished yet. "You know what they call people like you?" he demanded loudly.

Jack paused in front of Alice's table. "Would you like some cookies?" he asked her. "I have peanut butter and chocolate chip."

Alice shook her head. "No, thank you," she said quietly.

"They call you hippies," Frank said, louder this time to make sure that Jack was listening. "_Hippies_."

Jack, who had just sat down, looked up. "Really?" he asked. "Hippies?"

Frank nodded. "I saw guys like you on television a couple of days ago. Having some kind of protest or something. They were dressed like you, too."

Jack lifted an eyebrow. "Protest? For what?"

Frank scoffed. "I don't know. What are they always protesting about, huh? They want everything handed to them without having to pay for it." He nodded at Jack's tray. "Like everything should be free."

Jack smiled. "That's a nice idea."

Frank paused. "A nice idea?"

Jack nodded. "Why should we pay for the things we need? Shouldn't some things in life be free?"

Frank was still standing next to his own table, staring at Jack from across the room. "Like what?"

Jack didn't answer right away. He took another bite of his apple and waited until he'd almost finished swallowing it before he looked up at Frank again. Alice could see that he was smiling.

"Like love."

Frank rolled his eyes and turned around to sit down again. "Love," he muttered loudly, plopping down in his seat.

Alice looked over at Maggie, who was glancing back and forth between the two boys as though she couldn't figure out what was going on. Alice couldn't really blame her; she didn't quite understand it either.

"Love?" Maggie echoed. "I don't get it." She looked over at Jean. "Do you get it?"

Jean didn't answer, just looked over at Jack.

Jack swallowed another bite of apple. "I'm talking about free love," he told her. "The right to choose who you want to want to love without anyone telling you what you can or can't do."

Maggie frowned. "Is there a law against that?"

Jean let out a sharp chuckle. "He's talking about sex," she clarified.

Maggie's eyes grew wide, and she looked over at Jack. "Sex?" she exclaimed, bewildered.

Jack shrugged. "Sex is part of it, of course."

Alice could feel her ears burning from embarrassment, but she also had to admit that she didn't want them to stop talking about it. The topic of sex didn't come up very often in the Foster household, and there were still some things that she was very curious about.

Jean rolled her eyes. "More like _all_ of it. I can't imagine that you support _free love _for any other reason."

Jack frowned. "Are you suggesting that I am using this as an excuse to practice indiscriminate sex without any regard for the consequences?"

"That's _exactly_ what I'm suggesting," Jean said firmly.

"You believe in all that stuff, too, don't you?" asked Frank, looking right at Jean. "All that women's rights stuff. You said earlier you weren't ever going to get married, didn't you?"

Jean sighed. "That's different. I--"

"I don't see how," Frank interrupted. "If you think people shouldn't have to get married, you must believe in this, too."

Jean clenched her jaw. "Women have been treated as sex objects for centuries. My decision to remain unmarried has very little to do with sex." She looked back over at Jack, who had finished his apple and was unwrapping a package of cookies. "Free love is just another excuse to treat women like dirt."

Jack held his hands up in front of him in a sign of defense. "I didn't say anything about treating women badly. I think everyone should express themselves the way they want to, including women." He nodded politely in Maggie's direction, but the blonde girl just pursed her lips together and narrowed her eyes in Jack's direction.

"Oh, really?" Jean asked sarcastically, still looking directly at Jack. "And what if a woman said no?" Alice could tell that this was must have been a sensitive issue for her, since she was obviously getting quite worked up about it. "What would she be then? A prude?"

Jack shook his head. "I never said that," he responded defensively.

"And what if she gets pregnant?" Jean demanded. "The woman is always held responsible, even though it's only half her fault."

Jack was still shaking his head. "I never said anything about whose _fault_ it was."

But Jean wasn't finished. "Guys like you don't care about what happens to the woman, as long as you get what you want. Someday, you're going to get some poor girl pregnant, and you're going to be too self-centered to be able to take care of either her or the baby!"

Jack looked like he didn't know what to say to this. He opened his mouth to respond, but Maggie cut in before he had the chance. "Can we stop talking about sex all of the time? Please?"

Jean glanced over at her. "Why?"

Maggie sighed. "Because it's not very polite."

Jean stared at her for a moment, considering the blonde girl's words. "Is it making you uncomfortable?" she asked sarcastically.

Maggie looked up, surprised by Jean's tone. "Yes, it is."

Jean nodded slowly. "Really?" She was glaring at Maggie now, breathing through her nostrils. Alice couldn't tell if it was Maggie's request or Jack's comments that were making her so angry. "Sex is making you _uncomfortable_, Maggie?"

Maggie was, in fact, starting to look very uncomfortable. "Yes," she said quietly. "It is."

The room fell silent. Alice looked back and forth between the two girls, who were staring at one another intently. After a moment, Maggie looked down at her food and started picking at her sandwich. Alice continued watching Jean, whose fierce expression gradually softened. After a few seconds, she also looked away, down at her lap.

Alice glanced over at Jack, who was watching the two girls very closely, his eyes flicking back and forth between them. Then, suddenly, he looked over at Alice, holding her gaze for a moment. "What about you?" he asked.

Alice's breath caught in her throat, and she felt her face flush. "I'm sorry?"

"What about you?" Jack repeated, his eyes never leaving hers. When she didn't answer, he asked, "What's your name?"

"Alice," she whispered.

"Alice," Jack repeated, smiling. "How do you feel about free love, Alice?"

Alice didn't think it was possible for her face to get any hotter than it already was, but she was wrong. She glanced over at Jean and Maggie and Frank, who had turned around in their seats to watch her. She swallowed deeply. "I…I don't know."

Jack was still watching her closely, which wasn't helping at all. "Everybody's entitled to their opinion," he said quietly, as if she was the only person that was supposed to hear his words. "You must have something to say about it."

Alice couldn't tear her eyes away from his. She could still feel herself blushing, but she wasn't thinking about that anymore. "If you love someone…"

Jack nodded. "Yes?"

Alice could feel her heart hammering loudly in her chest. "…then it's okay."

Jack narrowed his eyes in her direction, and Alice wondered briefly if maybe she'd said something wrong. But then he started nodding slowly. "Yeah," he said quietly, and looked away.

It was a good three or four seconds before Alice remembered to breathe again.

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A/N: Please review!**


	6. Family

**Historical info: **Beauty contests have declined in popularity since the feminist movement of the 1970's, but they were at their peak in the 60's. They started being televised in 1955, and in the early 60's, it was the highest rated program on television.

And, once again, Alice's older sister Betty becomes Claire's mom, and Maggie's older brother Richard becomes Andy's father.

**A/N: **Thank you for all of your reviews. I really appreciate them.

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Chapter Six: Family

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Maggie glanced back and forth between Jack and Alice, frowning slightly. Jack had turned away from her, but he looked distracted, and Alice was blushing furiously, looking down at her lap. Maggie wondered if she was always this shy or if she just didn't want to be in detention. Because that would be completely understandable.

"What is your last name?" Maggie asked out loud.

Alice glanced up, startled. "Me?" she asked, after a short pause.

Maggie nodded.

Alice swallowed nervously. "Um…Foster."

"I knew it!" Maggie exclaimed, hardly able to contain her excitement. "I thought I recognized her when you pulled up this morning. Your sister is Betty Foster, isn't she?"

By then, everyone was staring at Alice again. The redhead glanced around at the others, then back at Maggie. She nodded.

"Wait, who is Betty Foster?" Frank asked.

Alice opened her mouth, but didn't say anything, so Maggie decided to do it for her. "She was Miss Illinois 1959."

Frank lifted his eyebrows. "Really?" he asked, glancing over at Alice for confirmation.

Alice nodded. "Yeah," she responded quietly.

"I was watching the pageant on television that night," Maggie told her. "She was my favorite from the beginning. I was worried that the girl from Evanston was going to win, but your sister was definitely the prettiest."

Alice offered a hesitant smile. "Thank you."

Maggie turned to Jean. "Her sister was Miss Illinois!" she exclaimed.

Jean just stared at her. "What, exactly, in all of our previous conversations, would lead you to the conclusion that I would be excited about that?"

Maggie rolled her eyes and glanced back at Alice, who was watching Jean with a concerned expression on her face, as if Jean was going to start yelling at her or something. Maggie supposed that she did have cause for concern, since Jean had pretty much attacked anyone that had a different opinion than she did. "Don't listen to her," Maggie told Alice. "I think it's wonderful."

Alice nodded politely, but she was still looking at Jean. "She was…" She took another breath. "She was trying to get a scholarship," she explained.

Maggie looked over at Jean, who was watching Alice with her eyes narrowed slightly. "Scholarship?" Jean echoed.

Alice nodded. "My family…I mean, she couldn't afford to go to school without it."

Jean nodded. "Where did she go to school?"

"The University of Chicago," said Alice.

"Did she graduate?"

Alice paused. "No."

"Why not?" Jean asked.

Alice was quiet for a long moment. "Well…she got married."

Maggie looked over at Jean, who was staring at Alice intently. "Well, that's nice for her," Jean managed, offering Alice a tight smile.

Alice nodded and looked back down at her lap.

Maggie looked over at Jean. "You don't have to be so mean about everything!" she exclaimed.

Jean frowned. "What was I being mean about?"

Maggie scoffed. "Just because her sister got married doesn't mean that you have to be so rude about it."

Jean shook her head. "I didn't say anything about her sister."

Maggie looked over at Alice, who was watching the two of them nervously. She turned back to Jean. "I could see it on your face."

Jean's nostrils flared. "I don't have to be happy about it! Do you know how many girls don't finish college because they get married? Because everyone tells them that it's more important to support their husbands than to find their own satisfaction?" She took a deep, ragged breath and looked over at Alice. "I'm sorry, I just…"

Alice nodded quickly, but didn't say anything.

Maggie shook her head angrily. "Have you ever stopped to think that maybe they _want_ to get married? Maybe they fall in love?"

Jean nodded. "Maybe they do, but that doesn't mean that they have to give up their dreams, too."

Maggie let out a derisive chuckle. "You just want everyone to be like you."

Jean shook her head slowly. "That's not true. I--"

"Yes, it is!" Maggie exclaimed. "If you're not going to get married, then no one can, right? Well, not everyone wants to be an old maid like you, Jean!"

The room fell silent. Jean was staring at Maggie with an unreadable expression on her face, but Maggie could tell that she wasn't angry, just…sad, maybe. Immediately, Maggie felt guilty.

"I mean…" Maggie stammered. "I just mean that not everyone wants to stay single."

Jean didn't respond. She continued staring at Maggie for a few seconds, then looked away. Maggie could see that her jaw was clenched.

Maggie turned back to look at the others, who were all sitting quietly. Jack was frowning thoughtfully, staring at the back of Jean's head, and Alice and Frank were glancing back and forth between the two of them as if they were waiting for something else to explode.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" Maggie exclaimed, to nobody in particular. She hated it when people stared at her. "I'm sorry!"

Jack's eyebrows went up, but no one said anything. After a moment, he reached down and picked up a cookie from his tray. "Is everyone sure that I can't interest them in a cookie? They're _really_ delicious."

Maggie let out a little breath of relief and looked over at Jean. The other girl was staring at her food, but Maggie could see that she was trying not to laugh. Maggie allowed herself a smile and looked back at Jack.

"I can't tell if these are peanut or macadamia nuts," said Jack, who was holding up one of the cookies, inspecting it. He turned to Alice, who was holding a sandwich in her hand. "What do you think, Alice?" He held it up for her to see.

Alice glanced over at him nervously, then looked at the cookie. "That looks like a peanut," she said quietly.

Jack nodded seriously, as though she'd just confirmed his worst suspicions. Then he took a big bite.

Maggie turned back around in her seat and started in on her own lunch. She'd fixed it herself, right before she'd left for detention. Her father wasn't very good in the kitchen, so Maggie was usually the one that prepared the food at her house. She knew her father would probably forget to eat today since she wasn't there to remind him. He always finished working on his sermons on Saturday afternoon, and most of the time he got so absorbed in what he was doing that he didn't notice how much time had passed. Maggie hoped that he remembered today.

"Hey, Maggie."

Maggie looked up to see that Frank, who was sitting on the row in front of her, had turned around in his seat to face her. "Yes?"

Frank wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "How is your brother?" he asked.

Maggie froze. For an instant, she wondered how Frank knew about what had happened, but then she remembered that everyone knew, of course. If they hadn't heard about it at school, then they'd heard about it at church, where everyone was still whispering about Pastor Clark's son, even two years later. For not the first time in her life, Maggie hated the fact that she lived in a small town like Shermer.

"Richard?" she asked, even though she only had one brother and it was obvious who he was talking about anyway.

Frank nodded. "Is he still in physical therapy?"

Maggie paused. "Um…yes, he is."

"Is he walking yet?"

Maggie pursed her lips together and glanced over her shoulder to see if any of the others were listening. They weren't. Everyone was focusing on their lunches. Maggie turned around to see Frank watching her with a curious expression on his face.

"Sorry," he said quietly. "I was just wondering--"

"No, it's okay," she told him, bringing her voice down to the same level as his. "He is walking, but he still has to use the cane."

Frank nodded thoughtfully. "Does he get many visitors?"

Maggie shrugged. "Sometimes. But mostly he just sees Patty, his nurse. She's been helping him with his rehabilitation."

"Oh." Frank considered this for a moment. "I guess I just figured some of his old friends--"

"No," Maggie said shortly, shaking her head.

"Oh."

Maggie swallowed deeply and looked down at her sandwich. Suddenly, she wasn't hungry anymore.

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Jean took another bite of her peanut butter sandwich and washed it down with a sip of milk, then looked down at the rest of her sandwich and sighed. She wasn't very hungry.

She glanced across the aisle, where Maggie was sitting. The blonde girl had her lunch spread out in front of her, but she was just picking at the food, not really eating. After a few seconds, she let out a deep breath and started tossing uneaten food back into her lunch sack to throw away.

Jean looked away, down at her own lunch, thinking back to her confrontation with Maggie not twenty minutes previous. She could still hear Maggie's words echoing in her head. An old maid. That's what she'd called her. That's what she'd said Jean was going to become. An old maid.

Jean placed her sandwich back in the aluminum foil she'd wrapped it in, then tossed it back into her bag. When she'd cleaned up her mess, she reached under the table and pulled her knapsack up onto the bench beside her. She took out her book and flipped to a random page, not caring what she was reading, just needing something to distract herself. To help her remember _why_.

Jean didn't know anyone else who believed the same things that she did, and the only confirmation of her beliefs came from the book in her hands, the one she'd worn out over the past year because she'd read it so many times. None of her friends understood why she'd changed so much over the months, in both appearance and in temper. She'd tried to explain it to them, but it didn't do any good. Eventually, they just stopped listening, and she stopped explaining.

Her mother was the worst, though, but for different reasons. Mrs. Miller didn't understand Jean's values, but she listened anyway, even if Jean's passion sometimes exasperated her. Jean knew that her mother loved her and that she wanted her to be happy, even if her efforts were misguided. When Jean told her mother that she was going to college as a pre-med, the first thing the older woman said was, "Oh, how wonderful! All of those boys are training to be doctors, which means that you won't have to worry about money when you get married." When Jean told her that she wasn't interested in marrying a doctor, that she was going so that she could become one, her mother was confused. And then that confusion turned into worry.

But however worried Mrs. Miller was for her daughter, Jean was even more worried for her mother. She looked so happy on the surface, but Jean knew she was dying inside, just a little bit more every day. Jean's father was always away on business trips, and when he came home he expected his wife to take care of him. Like she was his maid, not his partner. The house had to be cleaned, dinner had to be ready, and Mary, where is my tie? The one with the dark blue stripes? Didn't you iron it for me?

Every time her father started ordering her mother around--always in such a calm, reasonable tone, like he wasn't _really_ ordering her around, just asking simple questions--Jean swore that she would never allow that to happen to herself. She would never marry a man that expected her to take care of the house and the children and _him_, but never herself. And the easiest way to do that was just to not get married.

Sometimes, she worried that she wasn't making the right decision. She believed in love, most of the time, and she didn't want to be alone. Not _really. _She just didn't understand why it had to be one or the other, love or personal fulfillment. Why did she have to choose? Was it possible to have both?

"Carl!"

Startled, Jean glanced up to see Carl, the principal's young son, walk into the cafeteria. He had his radio tucked under one arm, and he was chewing bubble gum. He blew one bubble, at least two inches across, and snapped it back into his mouth.

Jack walked down the aisle, approaching the kid with his hand held out. Carl slapped it with his free hand, and Jack grinned. "How goes it, my friend?"

Carl snapped his gum again and shrugged. "The teachers finished their lunches, and they just started the next session. They'll probably be busy for a while."

"Groovy," said Jack. "Turn on the radio again."

Across the aisle, Frank sat up a bit straighter. "We're going to get in trouble," he told him. But Jean could tell that he didn't mean it, that he was resigned to the fact that he was only going to be ignored, but he had to say it anyway.

Jack waved his hand dismissively. "They didn't hear us last time."

Frank sighed, but didn't bother answering.

Carl set the radio on the table in front of Jean's, then started turning the dial. He found the jazz station they'd been listening to earlier at Jack's request, then looked up at Jack for confirmation. Jack grinned and nodded. "Good job."

Carl nodded casually, but Jean could tell that he was pleased.

"So, what have you been doing today?" Jack asked him, hauling himself up onto the table next to the radio. "Listening to music?" He glanced over at Maggie. "Smoking cigarettes?"

Maggie rolled her eyes.

Carl shrugged. "Mostly just listening to music. I went to the library a couple of times to spy on the teachers."

Jack laughed. "What were they doing?"

"Just listening to my dad talk about rules and stuff. It was pretty boring." Carl paused. "But this one lady on the back row kept picking her nose when she didn't think anybody was looking." He wrinkled his nose. "That was pretty gross."

Jean glanced over at Maggie, who looked like she agreed.

"I also played cards," Carl continued. "But that gets kind of boring if there isn't anyone to play with you."

Jack's eyebrows went up, and Jean knew what he was thinking before he said a single word. "You have the cards with you?" he asked.

Carl nodded and reached down into his pocket. He pulled out a pack of beat-up Bicycle playing cards and held them up for Jack to inspect. Jack grinned and glanced over at Jean. "Anyone up for a round of blackjack?" he asked.

Jean opened her mouth to respond, but Maggie beat her to the punch. "We are not going to play cards!" she exclaimed.

Jack frowned. "Why not?"

Maggie scoffed. "Because we're not supposed to be doing anything right now. We shouldn't even be listening to music."

Jack jumped off of the table and held his hand out for the pack of cards, which Carl gave him. "You heard the man, Maggie. We've probably got a good 45 minutes before anybody comes in to check on us, and that's enough time for a few rounds." He paused thoughtfully. "Besides, Carl's been playing cards by himself all day. The least we can do is offer him a bit of company."

Maggie sighed. Before she could offer any other objections, Jack sat down on the bench on the other side of her table. "Alright, everyone. Are we playing blackjack or poker?"

No one said anything. Maggie crossed her arms over her chest and arched an eyebrow defiantly in Jack's direction.

Jack sighed. "I think you're all going to have to move a little bit closer if this is going to work." He glanced over Maggie's shoulder. "Come on, Alice. You look like you've got a good poker face."

Jean glanced back at Alice, whose "poker face" was flushed with embarrassment. She stayed rooted in her spot for a moment, but then, to Jean's surprise, she stood from the table and started walking down the aisle.

"Alright!" said Jack. "What about you, Jean?"

Jean glanced over at the others. Maggie was still sitting across the table from Jack, and she didn't look like she was moving. Carl and Alice were sitting to Jack's left and right, respectively. They were all waiting on her. She sighed and stood up from her table, taking her place next to Maggie.

Jack grinned and turned to look over his shoulder, where Frank was watching them warily. "What about you, Sergeant? You coming or not?"

Frank didn't say anything, just glared at him.

Jack shrugged and turned around. "Okay, the game is blackjack," he told them, taking the cards out of the pack. He started shuffling them with both hands, but he wasn't very good at it, and a couple of cards escaped from the rest of the deck and flopped over onto the table, face up. Jack picked them up and continued shuffling as though nothing had happened. "I'm going to give each person two cards, face down. The object is to get as close to 21 as you can…"

As Jack explained the rules, Jean looked over his shoulder, where Frank was sitting, watching them play. Well, he was watching Jack. His eyes were glued to Jack's hands, which were still shuffling the deck, and badly. Jean watched Frank's frown grow deeper as the seconds passed. Finally, he let out a frustrated breath and stood from the table.

"…and the Ace is different, because it can be worth either one point or eleven, your choice. It just depends if--"

"We're not playing blackjack," Frank interrupted, taking his seat to Maggie's right.

Jack frowned. "Why not?"

"Because blackjack is for losers," Frank told him, leaning over the table to grab the deck of cards from Jack's hand. "And from now on, _I_ shuffle."

Jack held his hands up in a gesture of consent.

Frank cut the deck in two and started shuffling quickly and efficiently, like he'd been doing it all his life. Even though he was trying to keep a straight face, Jean thought that she could see him smiling.

"Alright, so the game is Texas Hold 'Em. Each player gets two cards…"

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A/N: Please review! Thank you for reading. :) 


	7. The Wars of Our Fathers

**Historical Info: **In January of 1964, President Johnson announced his plans to wage a "War on Poverty". The "War" included government-sponsored programs to help the poor, but it took months before any major projects were started.

By April of 1964, the U.S. had already sent thousands of troops over to South Vietnam to help support the South Vietnamese in their battle with North Vietnam, a communist nation. Basically, it was our way of fighting the Cold War without bombing Russia. In 1964, we weren't technically at war yet (that wouldn't come until 1968), but it was coming. Not many people were aware of what was going on in Vietnam, though there were some people who were paying very close attention and could see the writing on the wall. By law, men between the ages of 18 and 26 had to register for the draft. They weren't burning their draft cards just yet, but there was a lot of protesting going on, starting right about this time. Guys that didn't want to go to war sometimes went up to Canada, who was against the war. This was called "draft dodging", and it was considered a very, very dishonorable and cowardly thing to do, especially by those that supported the war.

The term "j.d." stands for juvenile delinquent, and was used to describe a teenager that acted like a rebel or got into trouble a lot. "Tea-smoking" was a reference to smoking marijuana.

**Disclaimer: **The opinions expressed by the characters in this chapter do not necessarily represent my own opinions. This is how I imagined the characters would feel about these topics, and their words aren't meant to offend anyone.

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed!

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Chapter Seven: The Wars of Our Fathers

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Alice had never played poker before, but there she was, not ten minutes into her first game, cheating.

"Do you have any fives?" Jack whispered, glancing down at her cards, which were hidden in her lap.

Alice looked down at her cards. She had a eight of clubs and a jack of diamonds. "No," she said quietly.

On the other side of the table, Frank was explaining to Maggie the difference between a straight and a straight flush.

"What about that eight?" Jack asked. "Are you going to use that? Because I have an Ace, if that helps you."

Alice looked over at him. "I don't know if I have anything," she confessed.

Jack glanced down at her cards again. "Oh, sure you do!" he whispered excitedly. "If I give you my Ace, you'll have a straight."

"Really?" Alice paused. "Is that good?"

Jack laughed. "Yeah, it's pretty good, especially since your high card is an Ace."

"Oh." Alice looked down at her cards, then up at the table, where five other cards were spread out at the center. King of clubs, Queen of diamonds, ten of spades…

"Oh, I see it!" she exclaimed, forgetting to keep her voice down. Immediately, four other people turned around to look at her.

Alice felt her face grow warm. "Sorry."

Jack laughed, and Frank turned back to Maggie, who was still having difficulties remembering the different hands and their rankings.

"You'll probably win with that hand," Jack whispered in her ear.

Alice felt a shiver go up her spine. She turned to face him, only to find that he was leaning close and their faces were less than three inches apart. Alice's stomach tightened nervously, but Jack didn't move away.

"Nobody's going to get a full house with the cards on the table," he continued, keeping his voice low so that only she could hear him. "No chance of a four of a kind either."

Alice nodded, but she was finding it difficult to concentrate with him so close, looking at her so intently. "Oh," she whispered lamely.

"Hey, no whispering," Frank said loudly.

Alice's heart skipped a beat, and she looked up to see that everyone was looking at her again. "Sorry," she said again, knowing that her face was probably as red as a tomato. Why did it always have to do that? Did she have some kind of medical condition that made her blush so easily? Sometimes she wished she was more outgoing and comfortable around people that she didn't know, like Jack.

Frank turned to look at Jack. "No cheating either," he said firmly.

Jack held his free hand up in defense. "No cheating on this side of the table." He glanced over at Carl, who was sitting to his left. "Unless Carl's got an extra deck up his sleeves, which is entirely possible."

"No, I don't!" Carl insisted. "That was my only deck!"

"I believe you, man," Jack assured him. "But Frank's the one you're going to have to convince."

Frank rolled his eyes. "Is everyone ready to put their cards down?"

Alice was about to bring her cards up from her lap when she suddenly felt something touching her free hand. She looked down at see Jack pressing the Ace firmly into her palm. He reached over to take her eight of clubs, and his fingers brushed lightly against hers. She looked up at him, and he winked and turned back to his own hand.

Alice felt like her stomach was melting.

"Alice, are you ready?" Frank asked.

Alice nodded quickly and put her cards down on the table.

"I've got a pair of fives," said Jean.

"So, that's where they were," Jack murmured, so quietly that only she could hear. Alice bit her lip to keep from smiling.

"Three Queens," said Carl.

"I've got two pairs," said Frank. "And Maggie has a straight, six through ten." He looked over at Jack and Alice. "What about you two?"

"Pair of eights," Jack told him, drumming his fingers against the cards. He turned to look at Alice. "What about you, Alice?" he asked, glancing down at her cards. "Wow! A high straight!" He looked over at the others. "Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have a winner!"

"Darn," said Maggie. "I was so excited about mine."

Frank had his eyes narrowed in Jack's direction. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you had something to do with that," he said, nodding over at Alice.

"Who, me?" Jack asked, feigning innocence.

Frank just sighed and started collecting the cards to start another hand.

"So, do you play poker a lot, Frank?" Maggie asked, handing him her cards.

Frank nodded and started shuffling again. "I get together about once a month with some of my friends, and we have poker night, just the guys. We just hang out and have fun."

"Get drunk, smoke cigars?" asked Jean, smirking. "Beat your fists against your chests and howl at the moon?"

Frank turned to glare at her, but he didn't look angry, just annoyed. "Not exactly."

"So, what _do_ you do?" she prodded. "Surely you don't just play cards all night."  
Frank was still staring at her, obviously irritated. Finally, he sighed. "We drink beers," he admitted. "But we don't get _drunk_."

Jean lifted an eyebrow. "And the cigars?"

Frank clenched his jaw. "Sometimes."

"Well, so far you're batting two for three," said Jean. "Wanna go for one more?"

Frank didn't answer, just shook his head dismissively and started dealing the cards for the next round.

"I heard that some boys got caught with _alcohol_ at school this week," said Maggie. She was speaking in a hushed tone, as though she might get in trouble just by mentioning it.

"I heard about that," said Frank. "Some of those j.d. kids that hang out on the front lawn every morning before classes start."

"Who was it?" asked Jean, picking up her cards.

"I don't know their names," said Maggie. "But one of them was the boy that was caught smoking in the _boys' bathroom_ last semester." She scrunched her nose in disgust, but Alice didn't know which part offended her the most, the smoking or the fact that it happened in boys' bathroom.

Frank glanced over at Jack. "Friend of yours?" he asked, smirking.

Jack smiled, but didn't look up from his cards.

"Why aren't those boys here in detention?" asked Jean. "Did they get suspended?"

Maggie shrugged. "I don't know. I guess."

Jean nodded and looked down at her cards. She compared them to the other five cards lying face up on the table, then glanced up at Jack, who was looking at Carl's cards, probably trying to figure out if the younger boy had anything he needed. "So, you never told us why you're here," said Jean.

Jack looked up. "You want to know what I did to get in here?"

Jean shrugged. "Sure."

Before Jack could respond, Frank jumped in. "I know why you're here," he told Jack.

Jack smirked. "Oh, really?"

Frank offered him a smug smile. "You pulled the fire alarm on Monday."

Alice looked over at Jack, who was still smiling, as though Frank's suggestion amused him. "You think that was me, huh?"

Frank nodded. "Wasn't it?"

Jack shrugged. "Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't…" He paused, arching an eyebrow in defiance. "Maybe it was one of my j.d. friends."

Frank let out a derisive chuckle and looked down at his cards again.

"What about you, Alice?"

Alice looked up to see that Jean was watching her. "Why are you here?" she asked.

For the eight millionth time that day, Alice felt her face heating up. "Oh." She looked up to see that everyone was watching her, waiting for her to respond. Jack especially seemed interested in hearing her answer, as he was watching her intently, lips parted slightly in anticipation. Alice swallowed. "Well, I--"

Before she could answer, she heard the cafeteria door burst open. Frank, who was facing the door, muttered, "Oh, shit."

_

* * *

Oh, shit._

Mr. Vernon let the door shut behind him, taking long strides in their direction. "What's going on in here?" he demanded.

Frank didn't know what to say, so he just kept his mouth shut and didn't move.

Mr. Vernon stopped in front of the radio, which was still playing jazz, and turned it off. He looked back at the table and opened his mouth to say something else, then stopped dead in his tracks. "Who the hell are you?" he asked, looking straight at Carl.

_Oh, this is just keeps getting better and better_, thought Frank.

Carl didn't answer. Instead, he jumped up from the table and made a sprint towards the door.

"Hey!" Mr. Vernon shouted after him. "Get back here!" The door slammed shut, and Mr. Vernon glanced at the table, then back at the door again, as if he couldn't decide who to go after first. He must have decided that the teenagers were more punishable, because he turned back to the table, face red with anger. "What's going on here?"

No one said anything.

"Who was that kid?" the older man demanded, glancing around the table to look at each of the students. "Who was it?"

"I don't know, sir," said Jack. "He just wandered in. Maybe he's homeless." He shook his head sadly. "I know that President Johnson has declared war on poverty, but so far very little has actually been done about it. In Chicago alone, there are--"

"That's enough!" shouted Mr. Vernon. "I'm tired of your smart mouth, Mr. Reynolds."

Jack offered the teacher an apologetic smile, but didn't say anything else.

Mr. Vernon turned to look back at the others, finally letting his eyes settle on Frank. "Give me those cards," he told him, holding his hand out. Frank nodded and started gathering the cards together. He slid them back into the cardboard sleeve and passed them over to the teacher, who jerked them out of Frank's hand.

"Thank you," Mr. Vernon said sarcastically. "I'll be taking these as evidence." He smiled smugly. "Obviously, Mr. Reed will be hearing about this." Without saying anything else, he swept back down the aisle and pushed open the door leading to the hallway.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Frank slammed his palm against the table. "God dammit!" he shouted.

Maggie jumped. "Frank!" she exclaimed.

Frank ignored her. "This is the second time in one day! Mr. Reed will probably suspend me now."

"Yeah, me, too," said Jack, rubbing a hand across the stubble on his chin. "Maybe we could catch a movie together…or go bowling."

Frank glared at him. "This isn't funny."

Jack nodded glumly, though Frank didn't think that he looked nearly as upset as he should have, given the circumstances.

"Mr. Reed is a nice man," Maggie said tentatively. "Maybe he won't be too mad."

Frank scoffed. "We were playing cards with his twelve-year-old son. Mr. Reed will probably think we were corrupting him." He paused, and a horrible thought occurred to him. "I hope he doesn't find out he has those cigarettes. The kid might say we gave them to him."

"Carl wouldn't lie about that," said Jack.

"How do you know?" Frank asked. "He's not going to admit he stole them from his father. It's easier to blame us."

Jack didn't say anything, just shook his head and looked down at the table.

Frank sighed. He really wanted to blame Jack for this…really, _really_ wanted to. But he knew that he couldn't, and that made him even angrier. It might have been Jack's idea to play cards, but it was Frank that had made the decision to sit down at the table, and it was Frank that took the cards out of Jack's hand. It was even his idea to play poker instead of blackjack. God dammit.

Frank stood from the table and walked back to his own table, which was right in front of Maggie's. One by one, the others followed suit until they were all sitting at their original tables. Everyone was silent.

Frank leaned over and buried his head in his arms as if he was trying to go to sleep. His eyelids fluttered closed, but his mind and pulse were racing, trying to process the situation. Because there definitely was a situation, and Frank had no idea how he was going to handle it.

Frank's father didn't have a lot of sympathy for troublemakers. In fact, he loathed them. During the Second World War, Lieutenant Colonel George Bender had led one of the many battalions that landed on the shores of Guadalcanal Island on August 7, 1942. Frank didn't know how many times he'd heard the story, but after nearly eighteen years, he knew every detail. How everything started out okay, but then it all went to hell when they encountered the Japanese resistance. How they'd spent the night in the jungle defending themselves against no fewer than four Japanese counterattacks. How they'd risen up the next day to defeat their enemies, killing all of them, almost down to the last man. A success story if he'd ever heard one.

But wars aren't won by individuals, Frank's father was fond of telling his children. They're won by individuals working together under strong leaders for a common goal, and if one person steps out of line, it can ruin everything. A group is only as strong as its weakest link, whether that group is a Marine battalion or a family.

Frank let out a deep breath through his nostrils. His father hadn't been very happy about what his son had done at school earlier in the week, just as Frank suspected he wouldn't. If he'd thought about what he was doing before he did it, then imagining his father's reaction would have been enough to help him keep his mouth shut. His father believed in discipline and self control, and if someone couldn't keep their mouth shut--to a teacher, a _superior_--then how much good were they going to be in the heat of battle, when one decision can mean the difference between life and death?

He hadn't mean to do it, which was probably the point. The words had just flown out of his mouth, like a missile aimed for the largest target in sight. All Frank really remembered was being so angry that he wanted to hit someone, but that words had been the next best thing. "Old bastard". That was what he'd called him, and he'd deserved it, too. Mr. McElroy had no respect for his students, and he seemed to have a personal vendetta against Frank and his friends, though Frank couldn't imagine why. He just knew that he was tired of being baited, tired of being quiet and respectful to someone who didn't deserve his respect in the first place. He didn't care how much authority the man had; a jerk is a jerk.

But Lieutenant Colonel George Bender wasn't very impressed with that excuse, just as Frank had suspected he wouldn't be. There will always be leaders that you don't want to follow, he'd told him, but that doesn't mean that you can do or say whatever you want to them. Rankings existed for a reason, and if Frank had the right to make the decision to follow his leaders or not, then the whole thing would fall apart. Frank understood that, really he did, but he also understood that Mr. McElroy was a bitter old man that abused his power and loved to make his students' lives miserable. People shouldn't be able to get away with stuff like that.

Still, he was afraid of disappointing his father. Frank worried that he was losing esteem in his father's eyes, that the older man's image of his strong, dependable son was slowly being replaced by one that looked like someone George Bender couldn't trust. Frank didn't want that. He knew that he could be brave and dependable like his father, and he wanted to prove that to him. If it wasn't already too late.

"Looks like Carl left his radio."

Frank looked up to see that Jack was out of his seat again, walking down the aisle towards the front table, where the kid's radio was still sitting. Jack ran his hand over the top of the radio, brushing his fingertips against the buttons.

"Don't turn it on," Frank warned him tiredly. "We're in enough trouble already."

Jack didn't answer, but he did step away from the radio. "I guess he'll come back later to pick it up."

Frank didn't respond, but he didn't look away either. He watched Jack climb up onto the table and sit right next to the radio, which he didn't touch. Suddenly, Frank wondered what Jack' parents thought about their son. He had hair so long that it brushed against his collar, and he hadn't shaved in a day or two. He was dressed in dark denim jeans, like a construction worker. His jacket was covered in pins and buttons with pictures of peace signs and slogans like "Make Love, Not War".

"Your dad was in the war, right?"

Jack looked up, startled. "What?"

"Your dad," Frank repeated. "You said he was in Korea, right?"

Jack blinked. "Yeah, he was," he said emotionlessly.

Frank nodded. "So, does he get mad that you have all those buttons on your jacket?"

Jack narrowed his eyes. "Why would he get mad about my buttons?"

Frank let out a short, frustrated breath. "Because they're making fun of the military. Doesn't that make him mad?"

Jack was still staring at Frank, his expression blank. "I don't know. I can't ask him."

"Why not?"

"Because he's dead," Jack said bluntly.

Frank felt his stomach turn over, due more to surprise than anything else. "Dead?" he echoed.

Jack nodded. "Three bullets to the chest, dead before he even hit the ground." He paused. "Or so they told my mother. They never recovered a body. It's still rotting somewhere in South Korea, presumably. We buried a set of dog tags and an American flag."

There was something so cold and passionless about Jack's tone, like he was telling Frank the weather report instead of the details of his father's death. But there was also something else underneath it all. Anger, and bitterness. Frank didn't quite know how to respond. "Oh," was all he said.

Jack turned away from him.

Frank looked over at the others, who were watching the two of them silently. Maggie glanced over at Frank, and he could see the disapproval in her eyes. He'd said the wrong thing, as usual. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well, you should…you should be proud of him." He knew it sounded dumb, but he didn't know what else to say.

Jack looked over at him. "Proud of him?" he asked. "Why should I be _proud_ of him?"

Frank frowned. "Because he was a hero."

"My father wasn't a _hero_," Jack spat out. "He was cannon fodder, just like all those guys they've got in Vietnam right now. They needed a warm body to throw grenades and pull triggers, and my father was dumb enough to sign up for the job."

Frank was stunned. Jack wasn't even proud of his own father, who'd been killed defending his country? "How can you say that?" he asked incredulously. "He was your father!"

Jack shrugged. "Not for very long, he wasn't."

Frank shook his head in disbelief. "How can you dishonor his memory like that? He was defending his country!"

"He was only there for three days!" Jack exclaimed, eyes blazing. "Three _fucking_ days! I could count the number of meals he ate in Korea on one hand. He didn't have time to defend _anything_."

Frank didn't say anything, just sat there, staring at Jack. Jack had been annoying the shit out of him all day, but he'd never spoken to him like this, even when Frank said things he knew Jack disagreed with. The guy was brash and selfish and irritating, but he hadn't been angry or violent, which was possibly the most irritating part of all. Now Frank didn't know what to expect.  
"Just because someone got killed before he could fight doesn't mean he isn't a hero," Frank pointed out.

Jack scoffed. "Why do you care what I call my own father? It's none of your business."

Frank clenched his jaw. "When you say that about one man, you say it about all of them. Those men gave their _lives_."

"No, they had their lives taken _from_ them," said Jack. "They didn't have any choice in the matter, just like those poor assholes in Vietnam right now. They don't get to choose. The government chooses _for_ them."

"Yeah, well, if they didn't, we'd be speaking German right now!" Frank exclaimed. "That's why we have the government, so they can make decisions for the good of the people. Nothing is free, as much as you'd like to think otherwise. You can't have peace without war."

Jack smiled, but Frank knew that he wasn't happy or amused. "Did you come up with that by yourself or did you hear it from your father?" he asked.

Frank let out a sharp breath. He _had_ heard it from his father, but he believed it, too. It made sense to him. If nothing was worth dying for, then what was the point in living?

"You have to make sacrifices sometimes," said Frank, trying to keep his voice steady. "Nothing is free."

Jack paused thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving Frank's. Finally he said, "Are you willing to make that sacrifice, Frank?"

"Yes," Frank answered. He didn't even have to think about it.

"Really?" asked Jack. "You sure about that?"

Frank stared back at him. "Absolutely."

Jack nodded slowly. "Well, that's good," he said casually, "Because you're just the kind of guy our military needs. Young, strong, and too stupid to think for yourself."

Frank wasn't prepared for the swell of pure rage that rose up inside of him. "Don't you ever call me that, you lazy, tea-smoking Beatnik!" he shouted, jabbing a finger in Jack's direction. "You don't know the first thing about honor or sacrifice or serving your country!"

"I don't give a _fuck_ about my country!" Jack shouted, face contorted with anger. "What has _my country _ever done for me or my family, huh? My father's dead, my mother's poor, and I'm about to sign up to get drafted into a war that we shouldn't even be fighting!"

Frank shook his head, trying to calm down. He couldn't even think straight when he got mad like this, and he could feel the anger coursing through his veins, so swift and strong that it was going to overtake him if he wasn't careful. "We aren't even at war," he said lamely, just to fill the silence until he could think more clearly.

"That's true," Jack admitted. "But you can be sure that it's coming."

"We're just helping the South Vietnamese," said Frank, taking deep, ragged breaths. "They're the ones doing all the fighting, not us."

"Our boys are still dying," Jack pointed out. "They aren't on vacation." He paused, studying Frank carefully. "But you'd love it if we were at war, wouldn't you?"

Frank narrowed his eyes. "Why would I want us to be at war?"

"Because then you'll get to go over there and be a hero," said Jack, as if it was obvious. "Just like your Daddy in Guadalcanal."

There it was again, that debilitating anger. It was all Frank could do not to jump up from his table and punch Jack in the face. "You don't know anything," he said bitterly. "You don't know anything at all."

But Jack wasn't finished. "This isn't your father's war, you know that? Those days are over, gone." He stood up from his table and crossed the aisle so that he was standing right in front of Frank. "You think war is just another way to turn men into heroes," Jack said quietly, "but you're wrong. War doesn't turn men into heroes, it turns them into _animals_."

It would have been so easy to hit him just then, so unbelievably easy, and Frank wanted to, too. His hands were curled into fists on top of the table, and his arms were throbbing with unspent energy. He wanted to, but something stopped him. As the son of a military man, Frank had learned how to size up his enemies. He'd learned to judge strength and weakness, fear and courage. He knew when he could win and when he was probably going to lose. All day long, he'd known that Jack was no match for him physically, and he'd known that Jack knew the same. If the two of them fought, Frank would win, no doubt about it.

But now he wasn't so sure.

"You can't teach a man to kill and then expect him to go home and sing lullabies to his children," said Jack, with no trace of fear or hesitation in his voice. "You can't turn them into animals and then expect them to act like human beings again."

Frank swallowed deeply. His heart was beating so loudly that it almost drowned out the sound of Jack's voice.

Jack took another step forward so that he was standing right in front of him, their faces just inches apart. "And there's no honor in death, Frank," he whispered. "It's just death. You get a free pass to heaven, and everyone else gets to pick up the pieces. If you ask me, it's a pretty shitty deal."

With that, Jack stood up straight and walked out of the room.

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A/N: Thank you for reading. Please review.**


	8. As Long as I Can See the Light

**Historical Info**: No one does this today, but it was somewhat common during the 1950's and 60's. Instead of taking shirts to the dry cleaners, some people would leave them with a woman that ironed clothing at her house. It wasn't a very profitable job, by any stretch of the imagination, but someone could probably get by if they were careful.  
Sophia Loren was a really popular actress from the 1960's. Even though she's in her 70's now, she's still considered one of the most beautiful women in the world.  
In the 50's and 60's, a lot of girls used rollers to set their hair after they washed it. Also, it was a lot more common back then to get married right out of high school.

And I'm sure no one remembers or cares, but in the first chapter, Jean said that she'd seen Maggie before. Also, Susan is Frank's girlfriend, as mentioned in the first chapter.

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Chapter Eight: As Long as I Can See the Light

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The cafeteria door slammed shut, causing Jean to jump slightly, even though she knew it was coming. The room became eerily quiet, but no one rushed to fill the silence.

Jean glanced across the aisle, where Maggie was sitting at her table, eyes wide with shock. At the table in front of her, Frank was staring at the table top, hands curled into loose fists, taking ragged breaths through his nostrils. After a few seconds, he stood from the bench and walked over to the cafeteria's side door. Without saying a word to anyone, he pushed it open and disappeared into the hall.

Jean glanced back over at Maggie, who looked about as stunned as Jean felt. The blonde girl turned to meet her gaze, and Jean just shrugged to let her know that she didn't know what to do either.

"Should we go after them?" Maggie asked quietly.

"No," Jean said quickly. "Just let them cool off."

Maggie nodded uncertainly and looked down at her hands. Jean looked behind her, where Alice was sitting, staring at the door Jack had left through a moment earlier.

"I have to go to the bathroom," said Jean. And she did, too. They'd been sitting there for more than four hours, and up until a few minutes ago, the only one who had left the room was Jack, who had gone to get coffee. "Does anyone want to go with me?"

Maggie nodded and stood up. "Yeah, I need to go."

Jean looked back at Alice. "Alice?"

The redheaded girl shook her head. "No, thank you," she said quietly. Her eyes flickered towards the door again, then back to her lap.

Neither Jean nor Maggie spoke on the way to the girls' bathroom. When they got there, they found that one of the two stalls was labeled 'Out of Order'. Jean let Maggie use the stall first, then took her turn. When she was finished, Jean unlocked the door and stepped out of the stall. Maggie was leaning against the wall, waiting for her.

"I'm surprised you didn't say anything."

Jean glanced up from the sink. "What?"

Maggie was looking at Jean's reflection in the mirror. "I'm surprised you didn't tell the others about me," she said. "About what you saw the other day."

Jean wiped her hands on her pants and turned around to face her. "Why would I tell them?"

Maggie shrugged. "Because of all those things I said to you earlier." She paused. "I wouldn't have blamed you."

Jean didn't say anything for a minute. Then she nodded. "I said some things, too…things I shouldn't have said."

Maggie nodded. "I guess it's just one of those days, isn't it?"

Jean allowed herself a soft smile. "Yeah, I guess so." She lifted an eyebrow. "So, who was he?"

Maggie looked embarrassed. "Michael Duncan. He's in the choir with me at church."

Jean smirked. "So, is that what I walked in on yesterday? Choir practice? I didn't realize they were holding it in the girls' locker room these days."

Maggie rolled her eyes, but Jean could see that she was trying not to smile. "Not exactly."

Jean smiled. "Is that why you were skipping class?"

Maggie nodded.

"Does your father know that's why?"

Again, Maggie nodded. "They told him everything. Where we were, what we were doing…" She sighed. "Poor Michael. I can't imagine what choir practice will be like next week."

"What did your father say?" asked Jean.

Maggie shrugged and flipped a lock of blonde hair over her shoulder. "What he always says about stuff like that. That a woman is supposed to remain sexually pure until she gets married. Then he started quoting a bunch of Bible verses and made me memorize them."

Jean grimaced. "That doesn't sound like much fun."

Maggie shook her head. "It's not that bad. I know he's just doing it to protect me."

Jean frowned. "To protect you from what?"

Maggie shrugged. "I don't know. Boys, I guess. He probably thinks I'm having sex and that I'm going to get pregnant or something."

"Are you?" Jean asked.

Maggie frowned. "Am I what?"

"Having sex."

Maggie's face turned beet red. "No, of course not!" she exclaimed.

Jean lifted an eyebrow. "Me think the lady doth protest too much…"

Maggie looked confused. "What?"

Jean rolled her eyes. "You sound awfully defensive about it for the answer to be no."

Maggie pursed her lips together, defiant. "I've never had sex."

Jean laughed and held up a hand in defense. "Okay, okay. I believe you."

Maggie watched her closely for a moment, and her expression softened. "Have you ever done it?" she asked quietly.

Jean paused, then shook her head. "No."

Maggie nodded. "Have you ever dated anyone?"

Jean shrugged. "A couple of guys. It's been a while."

Maggie nodded again, and Jean sensed that she was holding back. "What is it?" she asked.

Maggie shook her head. "Nothing."

Jean shot her a friendly glare. "It's not like I'm going to tell anyone."

Maggie glanced over at the door, as though she was expecting someone to come bursting in at any moment. Then she turned back to Jean. "It's just that…"

Jean nodded impatiently. "Go on, spit it out."

Maggie glared at her. "I am!"

Jean smiled.

Maggie let out a deep breath. "Sometimes when I'm with Michael and we're…"

"Making out?" Jean offered.

Maggie hesitated, then nodded. "Sometimes I get this funny feeling in my stomach, like butterflies or something." She looked up at Jean, her expression serious. "Sometimes I think that if he asked me that I would like to do it, you know? That maybe I would say yes." She wrinkled her nose. "That's bad, isn't it? That's wrong, I know it is."

There was something so pleading in Maggie's expression and in her voice that Jean immediately felt bad for her. It sounded like she didn't have anyone to talk to about things like sex and boys. Jean shrugged. "I don't know. I think everyone has to make their own decisions about stuff like that."

Maggie sighed and looked down at the floor. "Yeah, I guess."

Jean crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall next to the sink. After a moment of silence, Maggie looked up. "Can I ask you a question?" she asked hesitantly.

Jean nodded. "Sure."

Maggie sighed, and Jean thought that she could see her blushing slightly. "You know when you and Frank were talking about why you don't want to get married?"

Jean scoffed. As if she could forget. "Yeah, of course."

"Well…" Maggie bit her lip nervously. "You aren't really a lesbian, are you?"

Jean burst out laughing. "A lesbian?"

Maggie was definitely blushing by that point. "Well, he asked, and you didn't really answer! You just said that--"

"I'm not a lesbian," Jean interrupted, still laughing. "_Definitely_ not."

Maggie let out a deep breath. "I didn't think so, but I still wondered."

Jean shook her head.

"So, why aren't you dating anybody?" Maggie asked.

Jean shrugged. "All the guys at this school are so immature. All they care about are football and Sophia Loren's breasts." She shook her head. "No, thanks. I'll wait for college."

Maggie smiled. "What kind of boys do you like?"

"What kind?" Jean echoed.

Maggie nodded.

"Well, I don't know," Jean answered. "Definitely someone that thinks women are capable of more than washing dishes and having babies." She paused thoughtfully. "And…I don't know, just someone that can think for himself, I guess. Someone smart."

"Smart?" Maggie repeated.

Jean nodded, and without realizing it, her mouth curled into a slow smile. "Yeah," she said, warming up to the idea. "Yeah, I like smart guys."

* * *

Jack leaned back against the tile wall of the boys' bathroom and let a puff of smoke escape through his nostrils. He was sitting on the floor in the last stall, staring at the door. One of his hand-rolled cigarettes was pinched between his thumb and his index finger. 

Jack lifted the cigarette to his mouth again and took another drag. He remembered back to the first few minutes of detention, when Maggie had asked him if it was marijuana that he was carrying around in that bag. Honestly, he didn't really use grass, and he could probably count the total number of joints that he'd smoked on one hand. But sometimes he could understand the appeal. He could understand wanting to get away.

Jack closed his eyes and tried to imagine what his mother was doing just then. Ironing, probably. She was always ironing. After his father was reported killed in action, his mother knew that she would have to get a job as soon as possible. The government sent her an insurance check for $10,000, but that would last a year, maybe two if she was frugal, and then it would be gone. The problem was that there weren't many jobs available to single mothers. Jack was only four years old, and Mrs. Reynolds didn't have any family left to take care of him during the day while she was at work. So, she started an ironing service out of her house, charging ten cents a shirt, fifteen for extra starch. Every morning, people would drop off dozens of shirts for her to iron, and she would finish them all, one at a time, until her hands were red and her back was stiff from leaning over. When Jack got home from school in the afternoons, he would find his mother in the living room, listening to the radio as she worked, in the same place she was standing when he left that morning. And every time he opened that door, every time she looked up at him and smiled that tired smile and asked how his day was, he cursed his father for leaving them like that. Cursed the U.S. government for taking him.

Jack sighed, releasing a warm, tobacco-tinged breath. The cigarette was almost gone, burned down to his fingertips. He reached over and tossed it into the toilet, then glanced over at the door. He didn't really want to go back yet, but he knew he had to. Mr. Reed was a pretty nice guy, but he could only take so much in one day. If Jack was missing when the principal went back to check on him, he'd be in more trouble than he already was, which was really saying something.

On the way back to the cafeteria, Jack stopped for a drink from the water fountain in the hall outside of the bathrooms. He was stalling, he knew, because he didn't want to have to see Frank again, but he wasn't entire sure if it was because he was angry at Frank or embarrassed by his own loss of control. He hated getting angry like that, especially in front of people.

But when Jack pulled open the door to the cafeteria, he found that wasn't there. In fact, there was only one person inside, and it wasn't the one that he was expecting.

"Hey."

* * *

Frank walked down the main hallway towards the nurse's office, which was on the south end of the building on the first floor. He would have gone to front office by the library, but with the teacher orientation going on and two infractions under his belt, he didn't want to risk getting caught. Besides, he need some privacy, and some time to clear his head. 

The nurse's office had one phone at the desk--a heavy sea-foam green contraption with a huge white dial. Frank lifted the handle and dialed the number he knew by heart.

"Hello?"

Frank let out a deep sigh of relief. "Hey, it's me."

"Frank?" There was some shuffling on the other end of the line, and then Susan said, "Where are you? I thought you had detention until three o'clock."

"I do. I just…" He paused, searching for the words. "I just wanted to hear your voice."

Susan laughed, and Frank couldn't help but smile. He loved her laugh. "Silly, you're going to get in trouble," she chided playfully.

Frank chuckled. "Yeah, probably." He heard her rustling around again on the other end. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Taking out my rollers. Bev's coming over in a little while, and we're going to go shopping for a new dress that she can wear to church on Sunday."

Frank frowned. He hated Susan's cousin Beverly. She was only a year older than Susan, but she acted like her mother sometimes, telling her what she should and shouldn't wear, who she should and shouldn't hang out with. Most of all, he hated her because she hated him. Beverly was always telling Susan that she could do much better than Frank and that his temper was going to get him in trouble someday. Basically, she was a nosy bitch that didn't know what she was talking about and didn't have a life of her own, so she had to screw up other people's.

"I thought _we_ were going to go out tonight," Frank said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"Oh, we are," Susan assured him. "Bev and I should be back by about four, so that will give me plenty of time to get ready."

Frank paused. "Okay," he said hesitantly.

Susan didn't say anything for a minute. "Are you okay?" she asked finally.

Frank thought back to Jack's words about the war. About all those soldiers that had already died. "Yeah, sure," Frank responded, trying to push the thought away. "I'm just tired of being here."

"I'm sure you are," Susan said. "But we'll have fun tonight, so you can look forward to that."

Frank allowed himself a soft smile. "Yeah."

"Oh! I forgot to tell you!" Susan exclaimed suddenly. "Mother and I went shopping this morning."

"Oh, yeah?" Frank asked. "For what?"

"Do you have time?" she asked him. "I don't want to keep you if you have to get back."

Frank didn't even look down at his watch. "Yeah, I have time," he told her. He didn't want to hang up just yet.

"Okay." He could hear the excitement in her voice, and he could almost picture her sitting at the kitchen table with her long, dark hair held up with rollers. "We went over to the fabric store this morning, and I found the cutest material to make some curtains for the new house."

Immediately, Frank knew what she what she talking about. They'd been talking about getting married that summer, since both of them were graduating. He hadn't formally asked her yet, or even bought her a ring, but they'd talked about it, and they were hoping they could do it by August or September, if Frank could earn enough money over the summer to pay for a place to live.

"Curtains?" he echoed.

"Oh, I know it's too soon, but I just couldn't help it. Mother was looking at some fabric for a dress she's making, and I was just wandering around, and then…" She trailed off. "Are you mad? I know we haven't settled anything, but I was just--"

"No," Frank interrupted. "I'm not mad." He didn't think that it was ever possible to be mad at Susan. Just hearing her voice was enough to calm him down, no matter what had happened. "What does it look like?"

"The fabric? Oh, Frank, you'll love it. I thought of you as soon as I saw it. It's dark green plaid, and the stripes are blue and tan, just like that shirt you love so much, you know which one I'm talking about?"

Frank nodded. "Yeah, I know the one. It sounds really great."

"I bought enough of it that we could even have some matching pillows for the living room, if we wanted."

Suddenly, Frank remembered something else Jack had said about the war. How it was coming and it was going to get worse. "Tell me about our house," he said quietly.

"Our house?" Susan repeated. "You mean how I want to decorate it?"

The war was coming, and he couldn't stop it. He could get killed or, even worse, turn into someone he didn't recognize. Someone Susan didn't recognize. "Tell me about it," he said again, more desperately this time. "Tell me how it's going to be."

Susan laughed. "Okay…I can't believe you want to hear about this." She paused, and Frank heard her moving around. "I was thinking that we could do the kitchen in dark green and tan to match the curtains. Maybe I could even make matching seat cushions for the kitchen table. Then we could carry the color over into the living room, maybe find a tan couch like the one in your parents' living room. How does that sound?"

Frank swallowed the lump in his throat. "Sounds good," he managed to get out.

"And I was even thinking about a baby's room. Now, I know we really haven't talked about that at all, but…" Susan let out an embarrassed laugh. "But when I was looking at fabric today, I saw some really pretty baby material. You know, like for a baby's blanket? And I know it's too soon--I _know_ it is--but I couldn't help but start thinking about it. About how wonderful it's going to be…"

Frank closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, letting Susan's words wash over him.

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A/N: Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews. I really appreciate them. Please let me know what you thought of this chapter. **


	9. Hide Your Love Away

**A/N: **Totally stole the title from a Beatles song.

**A/N, part II: **So, uh, yeah…been a long time, hasn't it? I was going through some writer's block during the past few months, but I think I'm back and ready to finish this story, which is _almost _over. There is one regular chapter left, then an epilogue. I've already started working on both, so maybe I can finish this story within a couple of weeks? We'll see. Anyway, this is kind of an angsty chapter, probably bordering on melodrama, but hopefully you can slog through it. As always, thanks for reading. :)

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Chapter Nine: Hide Your Love Away

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Jack let the cafeteria door shut behind him. "Hey."

Alice nodded. "Hi," she said, so quietly that he almost didn't hear her.

Jack headed down the center aisle towards the back row, glancing at the empty tables as he walked. "Where did everyone else go?"

"Maggie and Jean had to go to the bathroom, and Frank…" Alice paused nervously, as if she thought that maybe she'd said the wrong thing. "I, um…I don't know where he went."

Jack nodded. "Right."

The two of them were quiet for a moment. Jack was standing next to Alice's table, hands jammed into the pockets of his blue jeans. His eyes flickered down to her lap, where she was clutching a ballpoint pen and the same notebook that she'd been writing in all day.

"What are you writing?" he asked.

Alice glanced down at her lap, then back up at Jack's face. Quickly, she closed the notebook and pressed it up against her stomach defensively. "Oh, nothing," she said, trying unsuccessfully to sound casual.

Jack lifted an eyebrow. "Doesn't look like nothing."

Alice's face had flushed a deep pink, and her grip on the notebook was even tighter than before. "I don't show anyone."

Jack nodded. "That's fair."

Alice hesitated for a moment, then relaxed, pulling her arms away from her stomach. She put the notebook on top of the table, but didn't move to open it. Jack saw her eyes flicker in his direction, then back at the tabletop.

"What?" he asked.

Alice looked up. "I didn't say anything."

"Yeah, but you want to," said Jack. "I can see it all over your face."

Alice blushed. "It's nothing. I just…" She shook her head firmly. "It's nothing."

Jack let out a sharp chuckle. "Just tell me. Trust me, I don't get offended easily."

Alice pursed her lips together, eyeing him seriously. Finally, she said, "You don't really hate your father, do you?"

Jack felt the smile die on his lips, and he let his gaze flicker down to his lap. "That's a good question," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have--"

"No, it's okay," he interrupted, looking down at the floor. "Sometimes I do, you know? Sometimes I looked at my mother, working so hard just to keep food on the table. She doesn't even have health insurance, so she has to sit there for hours in those waiting rooms and…" He paused and took a deep breath to calm himself down. "And when I see her, I think he must have been the stupidest man to ever walk to face of the earth. To leave us like that, to go over there and…" Jack looked up then, right into her eyes. She was watching him closely, listening.

"And the rest of the time?" she asked.

Jack sighed. "The rest of the time, I just wish he was still here with us."

Alice nodded. "Do you remember him?"

Jack shrugged. "Vaguely. I was four when he left. My mom still has pictures around the house, but if she didn't, I probably wouldn't even remember what he looked like anymore."

Alice didn't say anything to that, which was probably for the best, because suddenly he was embarrassed that he'd said so much. "So, what about your family?" he asked, forcing himself to sound more excited than he felt. He sat down next to her on the bench, and Alice's eyes widened slightly. "What are they like?"

Alice glanced down at her lap, then back up again. "Oh, I don't know. Like everybody else, I guess."

Jack lifted an eyebrow. "Isn't your sister a beauty queen or something?"

Alice nodded. "She was Miss Illinois, 1959."

Jack bobbed his head. "That's a pretty big deal, huh?"

Alice hesitated, watching him closely. "She's not really like that, though."

"Like what?"

"Like _that_," Alice answered. "I mean, she's not…_silly_. She worked really hard for that. She made her own dresses and taught herself how to play the flute for the talent portion. My parents didn't even want her to do it."

Jack frowned. "Then why did she?"

Alice let out a deep breath, and Jack could see the seriousness in her eyes - light brown with tiny golden flecks. He wondered how many conversations she'd had like this one, how many people knew anything about her at all. He had a feeling that the number wasn't very high, and there was a part of him that wanted to tell her that he understood. That no one knew who he was either.

"She wanted to get a scholarship," said Alice, bringing him back down to earth. "She hoped that if she won that she could go to college and make something of herself." She smiled, a little bit sad and a little bit proud. "She always told me that she was going to be famous someday. That she was going to get out of Shermer and make lots of money so that we could buy a house by the ocean, just like the one in that movie, _A Summer Place_, only bigger."

"Why didn't your parents want her to do that?" asked Jack.

Alice looked down at her hands, which were busy with a piece of loose string dangling from the bottom of her faded turtleneck. "I don't know. I think Daddy thought she was too proud. I mean, we don't have a lot of money, and I think he thought that she was ashamed of them."

Jack paused. "Is she?"

Alice shook her head, a little bit too quickly. "No…I mean, I don't think so. She just wanted to be something more, you know?"

"Did she do it?"

Alice paused thoughtfully. "Well, I guess. She met Mark at the university, and they got married…and he has a lot of money. He's a banker." She sighed. "But now she hardly ever comes over anymore. My Daddy doesn't even say her name unless he has to. I know they still love her, but…"

"But she hurt his pride?" Jack finished.

Alice offered a pinched smile. "I think so. But that wasn't what she wanted. All she wanted was to be happy. For _both_ of us to be happy."

Jack nodded. "Are you?"

Alice blinked, surprised. "Am I what?"

Jack leaned forward just a little bit, looked her right in the eye. "Are you happy?"

* * *

"So, what did he do then?"

Maggie shook her head. "He didn't do anything. He didn't even blink. He finished the whole sermon with a spitball right in the middle of his forehead!"

Jean burst out laughing. "Seriously?"

Maggie nodded, remembering the blank look on her father's face when he was assaulted with spitballs during his sermon one morning about three years previous. She and her brother Richard, both sitting on the front row, had nearly wet their pants to keep from laughing out loud in church that morning, and they'd barely succeeded, with Maggie's eyes filling with tears of laughter and Richard's knuckles turning white from gripping the seat cushion to tightly. One peep and their father would have lectured them all the way home about the importance of respecting their elders, but they'd managed to keep it together…until their father was out of earshot.

"I wish I'd been there to see that. It might have made church a little more interesting," said Jean, wiping at her eyes. The two of them were sitting on the tile floor in the girl's bathroom, Jean leaning against one of the stall walls and Maggie sitting next to the wall.

"It _did_ make it more interesting," Maggie assured her, running a hand over the hem of her light powder blue skirt to smooth out a wrinkle. "Richard and I were about to fall asleep in the pew."

"Richard?" Jean echoed. Then, "Oh…your brother."

Maggie recognized the tone of Jean's voice. Sympathetic, but hesitant, like she didn't know what to say and wished she hadn't brought up the subject in the first place. Maggie had heard that voice many times in the past two years, from her friends and teachers and neighbors, and it still made her stomach sink with disappointment. Like her family was some kind of plague that no one wanted to talk about.

"It's okay, you can ask if you want to," Maggie told her bluntly. "I know you want to."

Jean glanced up quickly, eyes a little bit wide. "Oh, I didn't mean…"

Maggie realized that she must have sounded harsh, and she felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. "No, it's okay. I mean, if you wanted to ask then you could, but not if…"

Jean was quiet for a few seconds, and then she said, "So, how is he?"

Maggie shrugged, somewhat relieved, though she couldn't really say why. "Alright, I guess."

"How long has it been now? Two years?"

Maggie nodded and swallowed deeply, forcing herself to think back on that night. It was November, the last football game of the season, and it was so cold outside. Maggie was dressed in her drill team uniform--a short skirt and a pair of pantyhose--which was doing nothing to fend off the chill in the air. Neither was the cold metal bench she was sitting on, along with the rest of her team. All of the girls were huddled together on the bottom three rows of bleachers at the 20-yard line, cheering loudly to distract themselves from the cold.

With exactly three minutes and twenty-one seconds left in the game, the Shermer coach called a time out. Maggie remembered exactly how much time was left on the clock, because that was when she looked up at the scoreboard. She could barely see her brother Richard sitting on the edge of the wooden walkway under the scoreboard, watching the game.

Richard loved sports, but he couldn't play them. There wasn't anything particularly wrong with him, but there wasn't much right with him either. He was a little bit too short, a little bit too clumsy. Not enough muscle, not enough speed. He tried out for the football team every year, but there really wasn't any point since they never let him play. So, he did the next best thing. He ran the scoreboard.

Maggie knew that Richard loved working the scoreboard, even if he would have rather been on the field than high above it. She worried about him up there all alone, in the cold with no one to talk to. Sometimes she would bring him hot chocolates on the nights when it was really cold. She would stand at the bottom of the scoreboard, two or three stories down from Richard's seat, and she would wait for him to climb down and take it from her. She never climbed up or met him halfway; she was afraid of heights.

But on that cold night in November, Maggie didn't bring him any hot chocolate. Richard had brought a thermos of apple cider with him, and Maggie figured that it would last him the entire game. She did, however, keep glancing up at the scoreboard to make sure that he was okay. She could see him up there, arms crossed over his chest, sipping from his thermos. When one of the teams scored, he would stand up from his wooden bench and change out the numbers so that they reflected the new score.

With three minutes and twenty-one seconds left, there was no score to change, and Richard was still huddled up on the ledge, feet dangling over the edge. The time out ended, but still Maggie watched him, unable to tear her eyes away. He looked so small up there, so fragile.

And that's when it happened, just as the football team started getting into position for their next play. Something fell from the scoreboard - probably the piece of rotted wood they found on the ground next to his body - and then Richard himself was falling backwards, off the ledge, straight down to the ground below.

Maggie's heart caught in her throat, and she leapt to her feet. Later, her friend Hannah would tell her that she screamed Richard's name, but Maggie didn't remember anything like that. Looking back, all she remembered was running out onto the sidelines of the field, cold wind whipping through her hair, tears blurring her vision. She remembered how he looked when she found him: nose bloody, eyes closed, body twisted into an unnatural shape. He looked like he was already dead, and at that moment Maggie thought that he was.

"So, he's walking now?"

Maggie blinked and looked up at Jean, who was watching her closely from a few feet away. She nodded. "He still has to use a cane, though."

"Does he get out much?"

Maggie shook her head and smoothed out a wrinkle in her skirt, just to have something to do with her hands. "No, not really. The only person that ever comes over is Patty, his nurse. Well, she isn't really a nurse yet. She's taking classes at the community college. But she helps him with his exercises, and she's real patient with him, especially when he gets angry."

"Angry at what?"

Maggie shrugged. "Everything. Sometimes he gets frustrated when he can't do the same things that he used to, or when someone else can do something he can't. Sometimes he just gets mad and starts yelling, and I don't know why."

"Sounds like he's having trouble adjusting," Jean observed.

Maggie nodded, but she knew that it was more than that. It had started about five years previous, when she was twelve and Richard was almost fifteen. Their mother went into the hospital with a stomach bug and within two weeks she was dead from stomach cancer. Maggie and Richard were devastated, but their father was an absolute wreck. He went for weeks without bathing, forgot to eat, holed up in his study to read and write and do God knows what. When he finally emerged from his hibernation, Maggie started taking care of him, fixing him breakfast and packing him brown bag lunches. He went back to work about two months after the funeral, but something was missing. It was like he didn't even believe his own sermons anymore. And when Richard fell from the sky on that frozen night in November, Maggie started to question them herself. Maybe their family was cursed. Maybe God had decided to test them in the cruelest ways possible, just to see if they'd break. And perhaps they had.

Jean glanced down at her watch. "We've been in here for a while."

Maggie looked up. "How long?"

Jean picked a piece of lint from her denim pants. "Almost half an hour. Mr. Vernon has probably already told Mr. Reed about us playing cards. I wonder if they're all in the cafeteria, wondering where we are. Maybe we should get back there."

Maggie hesitated. "Yeah, maybe."

There was a moment of silence, and then Jean grinned. "Who cares?" she said recklessly, throwing her hands up in the air. "What are they going to do, give us another detention?"

Maggie laughed. "You know, I wouldn't mind if they did."

* * *

He smelled earthy. Not like dirt, but like tobacco and coffee, just like she thought he would, if she'd thought about it at all. A stray lock of hair fell onto his forehead, but he didn't move to brush it away, just arched an eyebrow expectantly, his eyes still locked onto hers. He was looking at her like she was the most fascinating person in the whole world. Like she was the _only_ person in the whole world.

Alice was undeniably in love with him.

"Are you happy?" he repeated.

Alice swallowed. "I don't…I don't know."

"Sure you do," he said easily. "It's a simple question. You either are or you aren't."

Alice frowned. "Do really think it's that simple?"

Jack lifted an eyebrow. "Don't you?"

Alice shook her head. "No, I don't. Do you?"

Jack clenched his jaw thoughtfully, but didn't answer. He looked down at his hands, which were resting in his lap, and turned them over, studying them carefully. Alice watched him for a moment, then forced herself to look away.

After a couple of minutes, Jack cleared his throat, and Alice looked up from her lap to see that he was watching her again. "You ever wonder about your parents?" he asked.

Alice paused. "Wonder about what?"

Jack shrugged. "I don't know. What they were like when they were younger…when they were our age."

Alice reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't know. I guess not. What…what made you think about it?"

Jack shrugged again. "Just sitting here like this. It makes me wonder if my mom ever got in trouble. You know, if she ever had detention."

Alice smiled. "Did they even have detention back then?"

Jack laughed. "I don't know. Probably not." He shook his head and looked down at his hands again, then quickly glanced up at her again. "Hey, you never told me what you did to get in here."

Alice felt her face burning. "Oh, I…" She swallowed nervously. "I thought we talked about this earlier?"

Jack paused, and Alice thought that he was trying not to smile. "You never answered the question," he replied.

"Oh." Alice's cheeks were growing warmer by the second. "Well, what did you do to get detention?"

Jack laughed out loud. "No fair. I asked you first."

Alice let out a frustrated sigh. "Well, I can't tell you."

"Why not? Is it embarrassing?"

Alice nodded.

"Oh, it can't be that bad!" Jack protested, still laughing. "Come on, I promise I won't tell anyone."

Alice watched him closely, biting her lip. It felt strange to talk so openly with someone she hardly knew, but the more they talked the more she _wanted_ to talk. She wanted to tell him why she got detention and what her family was like and what she wanted to do with her life when she graduated. She was painfully aware that there was a distinct possibility that none of it would matter when detention was over, that they would never see each other again or, worse, that she would run into him in the hallway on Monday and he would look right through her like she didn't even exist. But Monday seemed so far away, and Jack was _right there_, and she was so desperate for someone to confide in that she could hardly keep the words from tumbling out of her mouth.

"I skipped school," she blurted.

Jack's eyebrows went up, but he didn't look quite as scandalized as she had expected him to. "Really? For what?"

Alice let out a deep breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "I took a bus into Chicago."

Jack nodded. "And?"

Alice sighed. "I went to a poetry reading downtown."

Jack smiled, and she could see that he was trying not to laugh. "That's what you were so embarrassed about?" he asked.

Alice pursed her lips together, frustrated that he didn't get it. "Well, kind of."

"Why? It's not like you were doing anything illegal."

Alice paused. "Well, yeah, but…"

Jack glanced down at the tabletop, where Alice was still covering her notebook with her hands. "Your trip…it didn't have anything to do with what's in that thing, would it?"

Instinctively, Alice pulled the book towards her, but didn't pick it up. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? "Maybe," she admitted.

She expected him to start laughing or something, but he didn't. "Do you write poetry?" he asked.

Alice shook her head. "No. I…I write stories."

Jack's eyebrows went up again, and suddenly the panic was rising up inside, that feeling of _too much_. How silly he must think she was, writing out her childish fantasies and carrying them around with her like that! Her stomach clenched up with dread, and she looked down at the table in front of her, unable to meet his eyes.

"Really? What kind of stories?"

He sounded sincere, but Alice was still rather embarrassed about revealing so much to begin with, and she just shrugged, biting her lip as hard as she could. "Oh, just…nothing."

He must have gotten the hint, because he didn't say anything else, just leaned back against the table and laced his hands together against his stomach. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, wondering if he regretted that he started talking to her in the first place.

"So, uh…" He glanced over at her. "I guess it's only fair that I tell you what I did. I mean, that was the deal, wasn't it?"

Alice glanced over at him. He was watching her hopefully, carefully, and she felt kind of silly for making everything so uncomfortable. She reached up to tuck her hair behind her ears and offered a hesitant smile. "I thought you pulled the fire alarm."

The corner of Jack's mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. "That's right, I forgot about that."

Alice frowned. "That's what Frank said," she reminded him, realizing almost immediately that she probably shouldn't have mentioned the other boy's name. "I mean, that's what…you never said otherwise," she finished lamely.

Jack smirked. "Yeah, well, he's not the only one that thought I did it."

This time, it was Alice's eyebrows that went up. "You didn't do it?"

Jack shook his head. "Nope. I saw who did, though."

Alice's eyes went wide. "Who was it?"

"A couple of football players. Apparently they had a test they hadn't studied for."

Alice remembered Frank's comments about the kinds of people that got in trouble at their school and how most of them were like Jack. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

Jack shrugged. "What do I care? I wasn't all that excited about going to class, either."

Alice started to say something else, but was interrupted when the door leading out to the hallway burst open and Jean and Maggie walked in. Both girls stopped walking when they saw Jack and Alice sitting together, and Alice felt her cheeks flush for about the 800th time in five minutes.

Jack turned around in his seat. "That was a long bathroom break," he observed.

Maggie rolled her eyes and started walking down the center aisle, with Jean not far behind. "That's none of your business."

Jack shrugged, and Alice wondered if he was going to move back to his table then, but he didn't. He just turned around so that both of them were facing the same direction, then leaned forward so that his elbows were resting on the table. His jacket sleeve brushed against her arm, and she felt her stomach flutter pleasantly.

And then all hell broke loose.

First, the cafeteria's side door cracked open and Frank walked in, glancing quickly at the others, who had turned to look at him. No one had time to say anything, however, because a few seconds later the main door that Jean and Maggie had come in from burst open again, and Carl ran in, skidding to a stop in front of the first row of tables.

"They're coming!" he announced.

Jack was on his feet immediately. "Carl--"

"Mr. Vernon told my dad about the game!" Carl interrupted frantically, arms waving wildly in an attempt to communicate his message. "They're coming right--"

Suddenly the door swung open again, and Mr. Reed walked in, with Mr. Vernon right on his heels. Everyone froze right were they were.

Jack, who was still standing next to Alice's table, muttered, "Here we go again."

**

* * *

A/N: Phew, that only took six months to finish! It might have been a little bit off since I hadn't worked on the story in so long, but hopefully everyone enjoyed it anyway. I should have the last chapter out really soon, along with the epilogue.**

Also, please let me know what you thought of this chapter. I know that sometimes you don't have a lot of time, and sometimes it's hard to know what to say, but reviews really do make an author's day, even if they're short. So please review if you can. :) Thanks!


	10. Friends

**A/N:** To insomniac, who had a question about why the girls were so upset about the cigarette smoke in chapter two: only two people were upset about Jack smoking, and that was Maggie and Frank. Both were mad because they didn't want Jack to get everyone in trouble. Because even if smoking was common, it still wasn't acceptable at school, especially in detention. I hope that answers your question.

Okay, this is the final chapter before the epilogue. Enjoy!

**

* * *

**

Chapter Ten: Friends

* * *

Jean had never really been in trouble before. Sure, she was in detention, and through no fault but her own, but that was just evidence of her fierce independence and stubborn pride at work. For the most part, she was smart enough to avoid mouthing off to the wrong person, and she knew when to pick her battles, even if she found that it was becoming harder and harder as her eyes were opening to the world around her. But she never went looking for a fight that wasn't already looking for her, and she'd never found herself at the center of a punishable situation.

Until now.

"What's going on in here?" Mr. Reed demanded, striding towards the center of the room. Alice was the only person sitting down, while Jean, Maggie, and Jack were standing in the center aisle, and Frank was still stuck by the side door he'd just entered from. Carl, the only one who wasn't supposed to be there, was right in the middle of everything, frozen in terror at the sight of his angry father.

"There you are!" exclaimed Mr. Vernon, marching up to Carl and grabbing him by the collar. "I found him here earlier, Mr. Reed, playing cards with the others. He ran out of the room before I could catch him, but I've got him now." He smiled triumphantly, obviously expecting praise for his hard work and fast reflexes. Jean almost felt bad for him…but not really.

"Richard," Mr. Reed said slowly. "Please let go of my son."

Mr. Vernon paused for about half a second, then released Carl's collar like it was the wrong side of a hot iron. "Son?" he echoed. He chuckled nervously. "You, uh, you didn't tell me your son was here, sir."

"I didn't feel that you were entitled to that information," Mr. Reed replied stonily.

Mr. Vernon nodded. "Of course. I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't mean…I mean, it just surprised me, that's all. If I'd known, then maybe I could have, you know, dealt with him better or…" He trailed off, finding himself cornered by his own words.

"Maybe you should return to the library," Mr. Reed suggested.

Mr. Vernon nodded quickly. "Of course, sir. I'll be there if you need me." And then he turned and practically ran for the door, nearly tripping over his own feet, he couldn't get out of there fast enough.

When he was gone, Mr. Reed cleared his throat. "Now, would someone like to tell me what on earth is going on?" He was speaking to the entire room, but he was looking right at his son.

Carl couldn't have looked more sheepish or apologetic if he tried. "It was my fault."

"And how is that?"

"I came in and asked them to listen to music and play cards with me."

"That's not true," Jack interrupted, stepping forward. "It wasn't his fault, it was mine. I invited him to hang out with us."

Mr. Reed lifted an eyebrow. "Invited him?"

Jack nodded. "I found him in the hall and brought him back here. It wasn't his fault." He was watching Mr. Reed very closely, eyebrows knitted together with concern.

Mr. Reed looked back over at his son, and the two of them stared at one another for a long, thoughtful moment. Finally, Mr. Reed sighed. "Everyone sit down," he said wearily. "Except you," he told Carl.

Everyone did as they were told, taking their original seats. Except for Jack, who sat next to Alice.

"I don't know what happened here today, and I probably don't want to know," said Mr. Reed, running a hand through his thinning grayish-brown hair. "I especially don't want to know how you, Mr. Reynolds, happened upon my son in the hallway. But I trusted each of you today, and I don't feel like you kept your end of the bargain."

Jean felt her stomach sink with guilt. Sort of like that time she lied to her mom about spending time with a boy she liked, and instead of punishing her, her mother just got that faraway look in her eyes and said that she was "disappointed". Surely that was worse than any punishment she could have given, which was probably the point. Apparently Mr. Reed had been reading from the same parenting manual as her mother.

Mr. Reed sighed. "I expect each of you to report to my office at some time on Monday. We'll discuss the consequences of your actions then. For the meantime, I think it would be best if I stayed here with you for the remainder of the day."

Jean glanced across the aisle at Maggie, whose eyes looked about as big as saucers. She caught Jean looking at her, and their eyes met. She saw Maggie's face relax a bit, and her face curled into a slow, subtle smile. Jean felt herself smiling back at her, and Monday seemed so far away.

Because no matter what punishment they received, it was all worth it.

* * *

Mr. Reed cancelled the remaining sessions for the teachers' orientation seminar and stayed with them for the rest of the afternoon. Carl was there, too, of course, right next to his dad at the table at the front of the room. Jack had returned Carl's deck of cards, and Carl spent the rest of the afternoon playing solitaire while Mr. Reed looked on.

The rest of them sat as still as they possibly could and didn't make a peep. Though she could only see the back of his head, it looked to Maggie that Frank was doing his best not to fall asleep. Jean read from the same book she'd been reading from all morning, writing notes in the margins and underlining certain passages. Jack had borrowed some paper from Alice's notebook and was doodling on it, while Alice watched him and tried not to laugh.

Maggie spent the rest of the afternoon making a grocery list and trying to figure out how to tell her father that she might be in more trouble with the school now than when he dropped her off for detention. If she told him what happened—with the card playing and the fighting and the food stealing—he obviously wouldn't be very happy with her, and he would probably give her the same lecture he always gave about being a beacon of light in a dark, immoral world. But Maggie figured that she could deal with that if she had to, because there was so much more that happened that day that he would never know about, and the trade-off was more than worth it.

At three o'clock, Mr. Reed stood from his seat at the front of the room. "You're all dismissed," he announced. "Please don't forget to visit me in my office at some point on Monday morning."

Maggie tucked her grocery list into her purse and stood from her seat. Jean was packing her pen and book into her knapsack, and Maggie waited for her without really knowing why. When Jean was finished packing up, she joined her in the center aisle, and without saying anything, they started walking out together.

"Are you going to tell your parents about your extra punishment?" asked Maggie as they exited the cafeteria through the side door.

Jean shook her head. "Not if I don't have to. You?"

Maggie smiled. "Same. But if he finds out, I'll probably be in even more trouble than if I'd just told him."

Jean laughed. "Me, too."

Maggie glanced down at Jean's bag, where a corner of Jean's book was poking out on top. "Is that the same book you were telling me about earlier? The female something?"

"_The Feminine Mystique,"_ Jean corrected her. She pulled it out and handed it to Maggie for her inspection. "It's amazing."

Maggie had never read a book that she could ever call "amazing" and figured that it must be pretty good if Jean, who seemed pretty smart and probably read a lot, could use such a strong word to describe it. "What's so amazing about it?" she asked.

Jean paused for a long time, choosing her words carefully. "It makes you wish things were different," she said finally. "It makes you wish the world was a better place."

Maggie scrunched up her nose. "That sounds depressing."

Jean smiled. A sad, dreamy ghost of a smile. "I can be. But I like to think that things can _get _better."

Maggie considered this as they continued walking out to the parking lot. Her father was parked by the curb, and Jean's mother's car was parked right behind him. Maggie started to give Jean her book back.

"No, why don't you take it?" said Jean, pushing it back gently. "Just read it and see what you think." She smiled. "You can tell me how much you hated it on Monday."

Maggie smiled despite her best attempt not to. "Okay. And you can tell me how much you hated my daddy's sermon on Monday."

Jean laughed out loud. "Okay, deal."

Maggie tucked the book into her bag so that her father wouldn't see it and ask what it was about. "See you later," she said to Jean.

Jean waved and started walking towards her mother's Lincoln Continental.

When she settled into the car, Maggie's father gave her a strange look. "Who was that?" he asked, glancing into the rearview mirror for another look.

Maggie paused, unsure of exactly how much she should tell him. Finally, she smiled and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"A friend."

* * *

Frank fished his keys out of his pocket as he made his way out to the parking lot where he'd left his car that morning. His chest was tight with dread imagining the look on his father's face when Mr. Reed called the house on Monday morning to inform him that his delinquent son had earned himself a few hours with the custodians in addition to his detention and, of course, losing his "Man if the Year" title. It felt like one thing on top of another, and Frank wondered if he was ever going to stop getting in trouble or if he was just cursed for life.

"_So _serious…"

Startled, Frank looked up to see Susan leaning against the driver's side door of his car, arms folded over her chest. She was wearing a bright green sundress with a white cardigan, and her long, dark hair was pushed back with a white headband. She was smiling up at him, obviously amused that he hadn't noticed her until she'd spoken.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, more sharply than he intended.

At the tone of his voice, Susan's smile slipped away. "I told Bev to drop me off. I wanted to surprise you."

Frank frowned. "I thought you were going shopping this afternoon."

"I was, but after we talked on the phone I decided that I wanted to spend the afternoon with you instead." She paused. "I'm sorry. I thought you'd be excited to see me."

Frank shook his head and took a step towards her. "No, I am. I'm sorry. You just surprised me, that's all. I was…thinking."

Susan smiled. "I could tell. What were you thinking about?"

Frank shook his head and stepped closer, taking one of her hands in his. "Nothing. It doesn't matter."

"Tell me."

Frank shook his head again and slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him. "No, I don't want to think about it anymore."

Susan relaxed against him and didn't say anything else. He felt her fingers stroking his back, felt her warm breath against his shoulder. He let his chin rest against the top of her head - a perfect fit - and closed his eyes against the afternoon sun.

* * *

"I don't know. I think it looks like a cat."

Alice laughed and grabbed the piece of paper out of his hand. "It looks like a frog!"

"No, it doesn't." Jack snatched it back from her and looked at it very closely. "Okay, maybe a little bit."

Alice laughed again, for about the one millionth time all afternoon. She was scaring herself with how loud she was being, with how easy she was finding it to talk to someone and have fun. "Told you."

Jack shook his head. "Well, I think it looks pretty good anyway." He stuffed the paper into the pocket of his jeans and pushed open the door leading out to the parking lot. Alice saw her sister's car at the curb, and Betty was sitting in the driver's seat listening to music. She was bobbing her head up and down and mouthing the words to a song that Alice couldn't hear.

"Is that your sister?" asked Jack, motioning in Betty's direction.

"Yes." Alice paused awkwardly, not wanting to have to say goodbye and get into the car. "Well…"

But Jack didn't make a move to leave. "So, are you going to tell all of your friends about what happened today?" he asked, eyes twinkling with mischief. "You going to tell them what a troublemaker you are?"

Alice smiled, but only for a moment. "Actually, I don't have any friends," she said quietly. "Well, not really." Suddenly her study group partners didn't count, and she didn't know why. Or maybe they'd never counted and she just hadn't realized it before.

Jack's mouth curled into a slow smile. "Neither do I." He paused. "Want one?"

Alice blinked in surprise, then smiled slyly. "I don't know," she said tentatively. "Will you let me smoke one of your cigarettes?"

Jack burst out laughing. "You want one of my cigarettes?"

Alice shrugged, but she could feel herself blushing. "Maybe," she said.

Jack studied her closely for a moment, apparently unable to keep the smile off of his face. "Okay," he said finally. "I'll give you one of my cigarettes….if you give me one of your stories."

Alice's eyes widened. "Oh, no, I couldn't," she blurted, without even thinking about it.

Jack made a clucking sound with his tongue and shook his head sadly. "This could have been the beginning of a beautiful friendship. But now…" He shrugged.

Alice watched him closely for a moment, considering her options. Her stories were such a private part of her life, and she didn't know how ready she was to show that part to someone she'd known for less than a day, someone who could very well take the heart she was offering and smash it into a thousand little pieces. But wasn't that how it worked? Weren't the best things in life worth risking everything for? Summoning every ounce of courage she could muster, Alice took a deep breath and said, "Okay."

Jack lifted his eyebrows. "Okay, what?"

Alice pursed her lips together nervously, hoping she was doing the right thing and scared out her mind that she wasn't. "Okay, I'll let you read one of my stories…"

Jack paused. "But?"

Alice took a deep breath. "But you have to give me time to write something new."

Jack stroked his chin, obviously pretending to take this under consideration. "Okay, I can do that," he agreed. "How long will you need?"

Alice shrugged. "I don't know. A few days?" _Or years_, she thought.

Jack nodded. "Maybe you could bring it to lunch on Monday."

"Lunch?" Alice echoed.

Jack grinned, and her stomach fluttered pleasantly in response. "You bring the story, I'll bring the food."

Alice smiled. "What about my cigarette?" she asked him.

Jack let out a sharp laugh. "You're serious about that, huh?"

Alice felt her face warm up again, but she nodded. "I wouldn't have offered to write you a story if I wasn't."

Jack shook his head and started rummaging around in his pocket. He pulled out one of his hand-rolled cigarettes and held it out for her to take. "Here, this is a down payment. You'll get another one when you bring me my story."

Alice took the cigarette from his hand and studied it carefully. "This isn't, um…"

Jack burst out laughing. "Just tobacco," he promised.

Alice let out a breath of relief. She could only imagine the look on her father's face if she came home from detention with marijuana in her pocket. Not that a real cigarette was much better, but still…

"I think your sister's getting impatient," said Jack.

Alice glanced up quickly, looking over her shoulder. Her sister had stopped singing along to the music and was watching the two of them was unabashed interest. Alice immediately stuffed the cigarette into the pocket of her khaki skirt and pushed her glasses up. "Well, I guess I should go then," she said, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

Jack nodded. "I'll see you on Monday."

Alice bit her lip to keep herself from blurting out something stupid like, _"You promise?"_ Instead, she nodded and gave him a little wave. "Monday," she said firmly.

"Don't forget your story."

Alice grinned and turned away from him. She was halfway to the car when she suddenly stopped and turned around. "Wait!" she exclaimed. She took a step towards Jack, who hadn't moved. "You never did tell me what you did to get in detention."

Jack grinned, bright and genuine. "I didn't?"

Alice shook her head.

Jack pursed his lips together, feigning hesitation. "Well, I don't know, it's kind of embarrassing…"

Alice resisted the urge to go up and swat him. "A deal's a deal," she reminded him.

Jack laughed. "Okay, fine. I was late to class. Two days in a row."

Alice paused. "That's it?"

Jack shrugged. "Guilty."

Alice tried not to smile, but it was very possible that she was never going to be able to stop, ever. The whole day had been nothing but one huge surprise after another, and from the most unlikely sources. "Well, don't be late on Monday," she warned him.

Jack lifted his hand in salute. "Yes, ma'am."

Alice saluted in return, then turned and started walking quickly towards her sister's car. She hadn't even closed the door behind her when she felt Betty's fingers closing around her wrist.

"Who is that?" she demanded.

Alice's breath caught in her throat, but then she realized that Betty was smiling. "He's _cute_!" she exclaimed.

Alice let out a breathy laugh. "You think so?"

Betty, who was watching Jack walk down the sidewalk toward the street, nodded. "Definitely. Like James Dean in _Rebel without a Cause_."

Alice sighed and leaned back against the seat. "I love that movie."

Betty studied her closely for a moment. "You're different," she said finally. "_Really_ different. What happened to you?"

Alice couldn't even say anything. She felt so close to bursting that all she could do was smile stupidly at her older sister, who knew her better than anyone in the whole world.

"You're in love!" Betty exclaimed, eyes wide. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Alice buried her face in her hands, just to hide that goofy smile. "I don't know," she moaned.

Betty pulled Alice's hands away from her face. "Yes, you are! Oh, my God, Alice!" she shrieked, like she wasn't a wife and a mother and a beauty queen, but just some giddy teenager at a slumber party, begging for all the details.

And Alice wanted to tell her the details, too. Suddenly she wanted to tell Betty everything, and at the same time, absolutely nothing. Because it was there and it was hers and she wanted to shout it from the rooftops, but there was this fear deep down inside that if she told someone that it wouldn't be real anymore and it wouldn't be hers and it would all disappear like it had never happened in the first place.

"I don't know," Alice said again. "I don't know."

"Tell me what happened," said Betty, cheeks flushed with excitement. "Tell me everything."

"I don't know what happened," Alice responded truthfully.

Betty shook her head in disbelief. "I have never seen you like this!" she exclaimed. "Okay, I have…but not in a really long time."

Alice knew what she meant. Not since Betty had moved out and their parents stopped saying her name at the dinner table. "Yeah," Alice said quietly.

Betty finally took a deep breath, and the excitement in the car dissolved into something more manageable. They sat there for a moment in silence until Betty reached forward and tucked a lock of Alice's strawberry blonde hair behind one ear.

"Well, you know what this means, don't you?" she said, brushing another strand from her younger sister's shoulder.

Alice smiled warmly. "What?"

Betty grinned. "You _have_ to get a manicure," she said, as if it was obvious.

Alice couldn't help but laugh. "But you're not good at putting on the polish. You always get the bubbles in there."

"I know, I'm terrible," Betty admitted. "We'll go to a salon."

Alice paused. "I don't have any money."

Betty waved her hand dismissively and reached forward to put the car in drive. "It's my treat."

Alice offered a sad smile. "I love you, Betty."

Betty looked over at her and beamed. She looked happier than Alice had seen her in a long time. "I love you, too."

* * *

Jack watched Alice until she was safely packed away in her sister's car – which was really, really nice – then took the sidewalk leading to the main road that passed in front of the school. It was still nice outside, cool and sunny, and it was on days like this that he was actually kind of glad that he didn't have a car.

As he walked, he thought about the conversation he'd just had with Alice. It was kind of frightening how easy he'd found it to talk to her, how effortlessly he'd opened up to her without even realizing that he was doing it, or that he wanted to. He wasn't kidding when he'd told her that he didn't have any friends. He'd spent years flitting between groups or skirting the edges, never committing himself to one group or another. He didn't know why really, only that it had never felt right. He understood himself better than anyone else did, so it was easier to keep to himself than to try and force anything. Besides, he could trust himself most of the time, but he couldn't say the same for the people around him. They always had a way of surprising him in the worst ways.

Until today. Alice was his friend now. He could see it in her eyes, that excitement, and it both comforted and terrified him all at once. Someone was depending on him to be there, and he couldn't bear to disappoint her. He didn't want to either, but he had the distinct feeling that someday he was going to hurt her, without even meaning to.

_One day at a time_, he heard his mother say.

Jack smiled despite himself. He wondered what his mother was doing right then, if she'd finished all of her work for the day or if she was still ironing. He hoped that she was finished. He wanted to walk through the front door and see her standing relaxing in the living room, feet propped up on the ottoman, watching _I Love Lucy_ reruns. Maybe he would even take her out to dinner so that she wouldn't have to cook. He had some money saved up – not a lot, but enough for something simple. Maybe she would let him, just this once.

As he rounded the side of the building, he caught sight of Carl and Mr. Reed descending the steps in front of the school. Carl was holding his radio and a baseball mitt, with a baseball and his deck of playing cards nestled into the web. Mr. Reed was saying something, possibly lecturing, and Carl was nodding along dutifully. Mr. Reed removed a keychain from his pocket as they reached the car.

Just as they got to the car, Carl tipped his mitt to the side, and the ball and card deck spilled out onto the pavement. Mr. Reed grabbed the ball before it rolled under the car, but the cards apparently hadn't been closed properly, because a few of them slipped out. Carl lunged for them and started sliding them back into their box.

Jack watched them, unable to tear his eyes away. Because while Carl was frantically grabbing at the loose cards to catch them before they blew away, Mr. Reed was glued in place, unable to move. He stood there watching Carl with this sad, tender look on his face, like there was something he really needed to tell him but he just couldn't find the words. Jack felt his chest tighten with sudden emotion as Carl looked up at his father, asking a question that Jack couldn't hear. Mr. Reed paused, then shook his head slightly and handed Carl the baseball that he seemed to have forgotten he was holding.

The two of them piled into Mr. Reed's dark blue sedan and pulled out of the parking space, and Jack watched until their car disappeared around the corner before he started walking again. It was only when he approached the space that the two of them had just been standing that he realized that Carl had missed one card. Picking it up, he found that it was the two of spades, which wasn't very special unless you were playing spades, but Jack knew that he would miss it eventually. He slipped the card into his inside jacket pocket, knowing that he could return it on Monday when he made his visit to Mr. Reed's office to receive his additional punishment.

As he continued walking, Jack felt himself smiling, and a wave of something like giddiness washed over him. Yes, he would take his mother out tonight, somewhere really special. And they would order the biggest dessert on the menu. Yes, indeed.

* * *

**A/N:** There's only one chapter left, the epilogue. Please review! It seriously makes my day. :) 


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